The Moonstone

One of our ladies present at dinner was worthy Mrs. Threadgall, widow

of the late Professor of that name. Talking of her deceased husband

perpetually, this good lady never mentioned to strangers that he WAS

deceased. She thought, I suppose, that every able-bodied adult in

England ought to know as much as that. In one of the gaps of silence,

somebody mentioned the dry and rather nasty subject of human anatomy;

whereupon good Mrs. Threadgall straightway brought in her late husband

as usual, without mentioning that he was dead. Anatomy she described as

the Professor's favourite recreation in his leisure hours. As ill-luck

would have it, Mr. Candy, sitting opposite (who knew nothing of the

deceased gentleman), heard her. Being the most polite of men, he seized

the opportunity of assisting the Professor's anatomical amusements on

the spot.

"They have got some remarkably fine skeletons lately at the College of

Surgeons," says Mr. Candy, across the table, in a loud cheerful voice.

"I strongly recommend the Professor, ma'am, when he next has an hour to

spare, to pay them a visit."

You might have heard a pin fall. The company (out of respect to the

Professor's memory) all sat speechless. I was behind Mrs. Threadgall at

the time, plying her confidentially with a glass of hock. She dropped

her head, and said in a very low voice, "My beloved husband is no more."

Unluckily Mr. Candy, hearing nothing, and miles away from suspecting the

truth, went on across the table louder and politer than ever.

Mrs. Threadgall dropped her head right into her tucker, and, in a lower

voice still, repeated the solemn words, "My beloved husband is no more."

I winked hard at Mr. Candy across the table. Miss Rachel touched his

arm. My lady looked unutterable things at him. Quite useless! On he

went, with a cordiality that there was no stopping anyhow. "I shall be

delighted," says he, "to send the Professor my card, if you will oblige

me by mentioning his present address."

"His present address, sir, is THE GRAVE," says Mrs. Threadgall, suddenly

losing her temper, and speaking with an emphasis and fury that made the

glasses ring again. "The Professor has been dead these ten years."

"Oh, good heavens!" says Mr. Candy. Excepting the Bouncers, who burst

out laughing, such a blank now fell on the company, that they might all

have been going the way of the Professor, and hailing as he did from the

direction of the grave.

So much for Mr. Candy. The rest of them were nearly as provoking in

their different ways as the doctor himself. When they ought to have

spoken, they didn't speak; or when they did speak they were perpetually

at cross purposes. Mr. Godfrey, though so eloquent in public, declined

to exert himself in private. Whether he was sulky, or whether he was

bashful, after his discomfiture in the rose-garden, I can't say. He kept

all his talk for the private ear of the lady (a member of our

family) who sat next to him. She was one of his committee-women--a

spiritually-minded person, with a fine show of collar-bone and a pretty

taste in champagne; liked it dry, you understand, and plenty of it.

Being close behind these two at the sideboard, I can testify, from what

I heard pass between them, that the company lost a good deal of very

improving conversation, which I caught up while drawing the corks, and

carving the mutton, and so forth. What they said about their Charities I

didn't hear. When I had time to listen to them, they had got a long way

beyond their women to be confined, and their women to be rescued, and

were disputing on serious subjects. Religion (I understand Mr. Godfrey

to say, between the corks and the carving) meant love. And love meant

religion. And earth was heaven a little the worse for wear. And

heaven was earth, done up again to look like new. Earth had some very

objectionable people in it; but, to make amends for that, all the

women in heaven would be members of a prodigious committee that never

quarrelled, with all the men in attendance on them as ministering

angels. Beautiful! beautiful! But why the mischief did Mr. Godfrey keep

it all to his lady and himself?