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What did that woman, Lady Maiden, mean by talking as she did? I detest her!" "Oh, Mr. Vigil! She has the best intentions!" "Intentions?" said Gregory. "I loathe her! What did we go to her stuffy drawing-room for? Look at that sky!" Mrs. Shortman looked at the sky. "But, Mr. Vigil," she said earnestly, "things would never get done.
Still Gregory did not stir. An anxious appeal began to creep into the women's eyes. "Mr. Vigil," said Mrs. Shortman at last, "Mr. Vigil, do you think " Gregory raised his face; it was flushed to the roots of his hair. "Read that, Mrs. Shortman." Handing her a pale grey letter stamped with an eagle and the motto 'Strenuus aureaque penna' he rose and paced the room.
"I'm afraid she has lost all moral sense," she said. "Do you know, Mr. Vigil, I'm almost afraid she never had any!" "What do you mean?" Mrs. Shortman turned her eyes away. "I'm sometimes tempted to think," she said, "that there are such people. I wonder whether we allow enough for that. When I was a girl in the country I remember the daughter of our vicar, a very pretty creature.
Let each one ask herself: Should I have resisted where she fell?" "It will never do to send that out," said the lady again. "What is the matter with it, Mrs. Shortman?" "It's too personal. Think of Lady Maiden, or most of our subscribers. You can't expect them to imagine themselves like poor Eva. I'm sure they won't like it." Gregory clutched at his hair.
"Is it possible they can't stand that?" he said. "It's only because you've given such horrible details of poor Eva." Gregory got up and paced the room. Mrs. Shortman went on "You've not lived in the country for so long, Mr. Vigil, that you don't remember. You see, I know. People don't like to be harrowed. Besides, think how difficult it is for them to imagine themselves in such a position.
Gregory buried his face in his hands, and sitting thus he looked so like a man praying that no one spoke. When he raised his face it was to say: "Not 'forgive, Mrs. Shortman, not 'forgive'!" Mrs. Shortman ran her pen through the word. "Very well, Mr. Vigil," she said; "it's a risk." The sound of the typewriter, which had been hushed, began again from the corner. "That case of drink, Mr.
Shortman at her bureau beginning to dictate, the typewriter started clicking. Gregory, who had opened a letter, was seated with his head in his hands. The voice ceased, the typewriter ceased, but Gregory did not stir. Both women, turning a little in their seats, glanced at him. Their eyes caught each other's and they looked away at once. A few seconds later they were looking at him again.
Eventually we found ourselves through the narrows of Obidos and reached the town of Manaos. Here we were rescued from the limited attractions of the local inn by Mr. Shortman, the representative of the British and Brazilian Trading Company. In his hospital Fazenda we spent our time until the day when we were empowered to open the letter of instructions given to us by Professor Challenger.
Shortman said gently: "I would only just alter it like this, from after 'country homes': 'whether they do not pity and forgive this poor girl in a great city, without friends, without money, almost without clothes, and exposed to all the craft of one of those fiends in human form who prey upon our womankind, and just stop there." Gregory returned to the table.
When Gregory received this letter he was working on the case of a woman with the morphia habit. He put it into his pocket and went on working. It was all he was capable of doing. "Here is the memorandum, Mrs. Shortman. Let them take her for six weeks. She will come out a different woman." Mrs. Shortman, supporting her thin face in her thin hand, rested her glowing eyes on Gregory.
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