The Mystery of Edwin Drood by Charles Dickens, Matthew Pearl Page B

you could, I suppose you would make her
(no matter what she was in reality), Juno, Minerva, Diana, and Venus, all in
one. Eh?”
     
  “I have no lady love, and I can't say.”
     
  “If I were to try my hand,” says Edwin,
with a boyish boastfulness getting up in him, “on a portrait of Miss
Landless—in earnest, mind you; in earnest—you should see what I could do!”
     
  “My sister's consent to sit for it being
first got, I suppose? As it never will be got, I am afraid I shall never see
what you can do. I must bear the loss.”
     
  Jasper turns round from the fire, fills
a large goblet glass for Neville, fills a large goblet glass for Edwin, and
hands each his own; then fills for himself, saying:
     
  “Come, Mr. Neville, we are to drink to
my nephew, Ned. As it is his foot that is in the stirrup—metaphorically—our
stirrup-cup is to be devoted to him. Ned, my dearest fellow, my love!”
     
  Jasper sets the example of nearly
emptying his glass, and Neville follows it. Edwin Drood says, “Thank you both
very much,” and follows the double example.
     
  “Look at him,” cries Jasper, stretching
out his hand admiringly and tenderly, though rallyingly too. “See where he
lounges so easily, Mr. Neville! The world is all before him where to choose. A
life of stirring work and interest, a life of change and excitement, a life of
domestic ease and love! Look at him!”
     
  Edwin Drood's face has become quickly
and remarkably flushed with the wine; so has the face of Neville Landless.
Edwin still sits thrown back in his chair, making that rest of clasped hands
for his head.
     
  “See how little he heeds it all!” Jasper
proceeds in a bantering vein. “It is hardly worth his while to pluck the golden
fruit that hangs ripe on the tree for him. And yet consider the contrast, Mr.
Neville. You and I have no prospect of stirring work and interest, or of change
and excitement, or of domestic ease and love. You and I have no prospect
(unless you are more fortunate than I am, which may easily be), but the tedious
unchanging round of this dull place.”
     
  “Upon my soul, Jack,” says Edwin,
complacently, “I feel quite apologetic for having my way smoothed as you
describe. But you know what I know, Jack, and it may not be so very easy as it
seems, after all. May it, Pussy?” To the portrait, with a snap of his thumb and
finger. “We have got to hit it off yet; haven't we, Pussy? You know what I
mean, Jack.”
     
  His speech has become thick and
indistinct. Jasper, quiet and self-possessed, looks to Neville, as expecting
his answer or comment. When Neville speaks, HIS speech is also thick and
indistinct.
     
  “It might have been better for Mr. Drood
to have known some hardships,” he says, defiantly.
     
  “Pray,” retorts Edwin, turning merely
his eyes in that direction, “pray why might it have been better for Mr. Drood
to have known some hardships?”
     
  “Ay,” Jasper assents, with an air of
interest; “let us know why?”
     
  “Because they might have made him more
sensible,” says Neville, “of good fortune that is not by any means necessarily
the result of his own merits.”
     
  Mr. Jasper quickly looks to his nephew
for his rejoinder.
     
  “Have YOU known hardships, may I ask?”
says Edwin Drood, sitting upright.
     
  Mr. Jasper quickly looks to the other
for his retort.
     
  “I have.”
     
  “And what have they made you sensible
of?”
     
  Mr. Jasper's play of eyes between the
two holds good throughout the dialogue, to the end.
     
  “I have told you once before to-night.”
     
  “You have done nothing of the sort.”
     
  “I tell you I have. That you take a
great deal too much upon yourself.”
     
  “You added something else to that, if I
remember?”
     
  “Yes, I did say something else.”
     
  “Say it again.”
     
  “I said that in the part of the world I
come from, you would be