"It was all right about Maria; something did happen in Edinburgh
while I was there. That very morning I met you one of my oldest
clients died quite suddenly at his house at Queensferry, only a few
miles outside the city."
"I'm glad of that," I answered, "I mean, of course, for Maria's
sake. It was lucky you went then."
"Well, not altogether," he replied, "at least, not in a worldly
sense. He left his affairs in a very complicated state, and his
eldest son went straight up to London to consult me about them,
and, not finding me there, and time being important, went to
Kebble. I was rather disappointed when I got back and heard about
it."
"Umph!" I said; "she's not a smart spirit, anyway."
"No," he answered, "perhaps not. But, you see, something did
really happen."
After that his affection for "Maria" increased tenfold, while her
attachment to himself became a burden to his friends. She grew too
big for her table, and, dispensing with all mechanical
intermediaries, talked to him direct. She followed him everywhere.
Mary's lamb couldn't have been a bigger nuisance. She would even
go with him into the bedroom, and carry on long conversations with
him in the middle of the night.
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