"
"Allow us to reassure you, then," said my father. "But there remains
the question, why you did it?"
Mr. Badcock rubbed his hands. "Appearances were against me, I'll
allow," he answered, with a bashful chuckle; "but you may set it down
to tchivalry. We all have our weaknesses, I hope, sir; and tchivalry
is mine."
"Chivalry?" echoed my father.
"You spell it with an 's'? Excuse me; whatever schooling I have
picked up has been at odd times; but I am always open to correction,
I thank the Lord."
"But why call it a weakness, Mr. Badcock?"
"Call it a hobby; call it what you like. _I_ look upon it as a debt,
sir, due to the memory of my late wife. An admirable woman, sir, and
by name Artemisia; which, I have sometimes thought, may partially
account for it. Allow me, gentlemen." He drew a small shagreen case
from his breast-pocket, opened it, and displayed a miniature.
"Her portrait?"
"In a sense. As a matter of fact, I will not conceal from you,
gentlemen, that it came to me in the form of a pledge--that being my
late profession--and I have never been able to trace the original.
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