Cashel Byron's Profession - Page 153/178

Lydia leaned back in her chair and looked at Mrs. Skene with a

curious expression which soon brightened into an irrepressible

smile. Mrs. Skene smiled very slightly in complaisance, but conveyed

by her serious brow that what she had said was no laughing matter.

"I must take some time to consider all that you have so eloquently

urged," said Lydia. "I am in earnest, Mrs. Skene; you have produced

a great effect upon me. Now let us talk of something else for the

present. Your daughter is quite well, I hope."

"Thank you kindly, ma'am, she enjoys her health."

"And you also?"

"I am as well as can be expected," said Mrs. Skene, too fond of

commiseration to admit that she was perfectly well.

"You must have a rare sense of security," said Lydia, watching her,

"being happily married to so celebrated a--a professor of boxing as

Mr. Skene. Is it not pleasant to have a powerful protector?"

"Ah, miss, you little know," exclaimed Mrs. Skene, falling into the

trap baited by her own grievances, and losing sight of Cashel's

interests. "The fear of his getting into trouble is never off my

mind. Ned is quietness itself until he has a drop of drink in him;

and then he is like the rest--ready to fight the first that provokes

him. And if the police get hold of him he has no chance. There's no

justice for a fighting man. Just let it be said that he's a

professional, and that's enough for the magistrate; away with him to

prison, and good-by to his pupils and his respectability at once.

That's what I live in terror of. And as to being protected, I'd let

myself be robbed fifty times over sooner than say a word to him that

might bring on a quarrel. Many a time when we were driving home of a

night have I overpaid the cabman on the sly, afraid he would grumble

and provoke Ned. It's the drink that does it all. Gentlemen are

proud to be seen speaking with him in public; and they come up one

after another asking what he'll have, until the next thing he knows

is that he's in bed with his boots on, his wrist sprained, and maybe

his eye black, trying to remember what he was doing the night

before. What I suffered the first three years of our marriage none

can tell. Then he took the pledge, and ever since that he's been

very good--I haven't seen him what you could fairly call drunk, not

more than three times a year. It was the blessing of God, and a

beating he got from a milkman in Westminster, that made him ashamed

of himself. I kept him to it and made him emigrate out of the way of

his old friends. Since that, there has been a blessing on him; and

we've prospered."