Mr. Buxton, in the dining-room, was really getting to take an interest in Edward’s puzzling cases.  They were like tricks at cards.  A quick motion, and out of the unpromising heap, all confused together, presto! the right card turned up.  Edward stated his case, so that there did not seem loophole for the desired verdict; but through some conjuration, it always came uppermost at last.  He had a graphic way of relating things; and, as he did not spare epithets in his designation of the opposing party, Mr. Buxton took it upon trust that the defendant or the prosecutor (as it might happen) was a “pettifogging knave,” or a “miserly curmudgeon,” and rejoiced accordingly in the triumph over him gained by the ready wit of “our governor,” Mr. Bish.  At last he became so deeply impressed with Edward’s knowledge of law, as to consult him about some cottage property he had in Woodchester.

“I rather think there are twenty-one cottages, and they don’t bring me in four pounds a-year; and out of that I have to pay for collecting.  Would there be any chance of selling them?  They are in Doughty-street; a bad neighborhood, I fear.”

“Very bad,” was Edward’s prompt reply.  “But if you are really anxious to effect a sale, I have no doubt I could find a purchaser in a short time.”

“I should be very much obliged to you,” said Mr. Buxton.  “You would be doing me a kindness.  If you meet with a purchaser, and can manage the affair, I would rather that you drew out the deeds for the transfer of the property.  If would be the beginning of business for you; and I only hope I should bring you good luck.”

Of course Edward could do this; and when they left the table, it was with a feeling on his side that he was a step nearer to the agency which he coveted; and with a happy consciousness on Mr. Buxton’s of having put a few pounds in the way of a deserving and remarkably clever young man.

Since Edward had left home, Maggie had gradually, but surely, been gaining in importance.  Her judgment and her untiring unselfishness could not fail to make way.  Her mother had some respect for, and great dependence on her; but still it was hardly affection that she felt for her; or if it was it was a dull and torpid kind of feeling, compared with the fond love and exulting pride which she took in Edward.  When he came back for occasional holidays, his mother’s face was radiant with happiness, and her manner toward him was even more caressing than he approved of.  When Maggie saw him repel the hand that fain would have stroked his hair as in childish days, a longing came into her heart for some of these uncared-for tokens of her mother’s love.  Otherwise she meekly sank back into her old secondary place, content to have her judgment slighted and her wishes unasked as long as he stayed.  At times she was now beginning to disapprove and regret some things in him; his flashiness of manner jarred against her taste; and a deeper, graver feeling was called out by his evident want of quick moral perception.  “Smart and clever,” or “slow and dull,” took with him the place of “right and wrong.”  Little as he thought it, he was himself narrow-minded and dull; slow and blind to perceive the beauty and eternal wisdom of simple goodness.