"The Law may very well 'be an ass', but a man can travel a mighty long way on an ass."
Reeve was too polite to continue long the legal conversation with the bamboozled and surely disinterested young ladies present, but he allowed Vaughn to talk on enough to convince himself that, although the diffident young Englishman may not have completed his diploma LLB, what he did know, he knew well, and could cite Coke and Blackstone with the best of them, and don't even get him started on his habeas corpus, actus reus and mens rea!
"We should have a talk tomorrow" Reeve said "I'd like to pick your brains a little more if I might" He didn't want to come on too strong with the proposition of a partnership, but wanted the other fellow to at least know that he admired the legal acumen so far displayed.
"I've always thought I might have cut a grand figure in a court room myself!" declared Mr Pettigrew, tucking his thumbs into his vest like a great defence attorney about to make his finishing address to the jury.
"But you was too busy cutting dress patterns, huh?!" ventured Arabella, jauntily.
Once he started talking about something he actually felt at ease discussing, it wasn’t uncommon for James to carry on far longer than most people wanted to hear. Luckily for him, Reeve was savvy and polite enough to draw the conversation to a close before the two young ladies were bored to death.
“I’d like that.” James admitted with one of his quick shy little smiles, pleased to have met a kindred spirit in Reeve. This wasn’t something that he’d had very much of in his life. His fellow classmates at boarding school generally picked on him rather than making an effort to get to know him. "Very much."
“No doubt sir.” James told the older man, in a subdued tone, biting the inside of his cheek at the sight of Mr. Pettigrew with his thumbs hooked in his labels. He hadn’t seen the inside of very many courtrooms, but in his experience back in England, barristers dressed very differently than the way that their host currently was. Not that James had any desire to follow that path in the legal field. He was much happier working behind the scenes rather than speaking in court. But perhaps Mr. Pettigrew would make a fine Barrister he conceded with a mental shrug.
"Where are the snows of yesterday" - Villon
Mister Pettigrew was well pleased by the remaining portion of the evening. Miss Mudd was easily prevailed upon to play for them a number of simple classical pieces with great feeling upon the (perhaps too large for the room) grand piano and even the shyer Miss Orr trotted out a somewhat mechanical performance of "Beautiful Dreamer" by Stephen Foster, the only item in her repertoire. Miss Mudd lead the standing ovation: for good musicians are often curiously supportive of less talented ones.
The genial host led well-tempered discussions about polite subjects, and any minor disagreements were so courteously expressed that they caused far more bonhomie than even cordial agreements might have done. Mister Pettigrew was sensitive enough to his individual guests' temperaments as never to impose upon them, and though he himself recited William Gilmore Simms' The City of the Silent and even prevailed upon Mr Reeve to sing*, there was never any question of having the diffident Mr Vaught perform in any way.
Thus, when all returned home, none could complain of anything but a genteel and, at least, mildly enjoyable evening. Except, perhaps, Jemima Wigfall, who after waiting on them all hand and foot, as left to wash the dishes and trudge home alone.
* Drink to Me Only with Thine Eyes in a pleasing baritone, accompanied by Miss Mudd at the pianoforte.