No Name by Wilkie Collins (good books for 7th graders TXT) 📕

since I have heard myself addressed in the language of science. My dear husband made me his companion⁠—my dear husband improved my mind as you have been trying to improve it. Nobody has taken pains with my intellect since. Many thanks, sir. Your kind consideration for me is not thrown away.”

She sighed with a plaintive humility, and privately opened her ears to the conversation on the other side of her.

A minute earlier she would have heard her master expressing himself in the most flattering terms on the subject of Miss Bygrave’s appearance in her seaside costume. But Magdalen had seen Captain Wragge’s signal with the campstool, and had at once diverted Noel Vanstone to the topic of himself and his possessions by a neatly-timed question about his house at Aldborough.

“I don’t wish to alarm you, Miss Bygrave,” were the first words of Noel Vanstone’s which caught Mrs. Lecount’s attention, “but there is only one safe house in Aldborough, and that house is mine. The sea may destroy all the other houses⁠—it can’t destroy mine. My father took care of that; my father was a remarkable man. He had my house built on piles. I have reason to believe they are the strongest piles in England. Nothing can possibly knock them down⁠—I don’t care what the sea does⁠—nothing can possibly knock them down.”

“Then, if the sea invades us,” said Magdalen, “we must all run for refuge to you.”

Noel Vanstone saw his way to another compliment; and, at the same moment, the wary captain saw his way to another burst of science.

“I could almost wish the invasion might happen,” murmured one of the gentlemen, “to give me the happiness of offering the refuge.”

“I could almost swear the wind had shifted again!” exclaimed the other. “Where is a man I can ask? Oh, there he is. Boatman! How’s the wind now? Nor’west and by west still⁠—hey? And southeast and by south yesterday evening⁠—ha? Is there anything more remarkable, Mrs. Lecount, than the variableness of the wind in this climate?” proceeded the captain, shifting the campstool to the scientific side of him. “Is there any natural phenomenon more bewildering to the scientific inquirer? You will tell me that the electric fluid which abounds in the air is the principal cause of this variableness. You will remind me of the experiment of that illustrious philosopher who measured the velocity of a great storm by a flight of small feathers. My dear madam, I grant all your propositions⁠—”

“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Mrs. Lecount; “you kindly attribute to me a knowledge that I don’t possess. Propositions, I regret to say, are quite beyond me.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, ma’am,” continued the captain, politely unconscious of the interruption. “My remarks apply to the temperate zone only. Place me on the coasts beyond the tropics⁠—place me where the wind blows toward the shore in the daytime, and toward the sea by night⁠—and I instantly advance toward conclusive experiments. For example, I know that the heat of the sun during the day rarefies the air over the land, and so causes the wind. You challenge me to prove it. I escort you down the kitchen stairs (with your kind permission); take my largest pie-dish out of the cook’s hands; I fill it with cold water. Good! that dish of cold water represents the ocean. I next provide myself with one of our most precious domestic conveniences, a hot-water plate; I fill it with hot water and I put it in the middle of the pie-dish. Good again! the hot-water plate represents the land rarefying the air over it. Bear that in mind, and give me a lighted candle. I hold my lighted candle over the cold water, and blow it out. The smoke immediately moves from the dish to the plate. Before you have time to express your satisfaction, I light the candle once more, and reverse the whole proceeding. I fill the pie-dish with hot-water, and the plate with cold; I blow the candle out again, and the smoke moves this time from the plate to the dish. The smell is disagreeable⁠—but the experiment is conclusive.”

He shifted the campstool back again, and looked at Mrs. Lecount with his ingratiating smile. “You don’t find me long-winded, ma’am⁠—do you?” he said, in his easy, cheerful way, just as the housekeeper was privately opening her ears once more to the conversation on the other side of her.

“I am amazed, sir, by the range of your information,” replied Mrs. Lecount, observing the captain with some perplexity⁠—but thus far with no distrust. She thought him eccentric, even for an Englishman, and possibly a little vain of his knowledge. But he had at least paid her the implied compliment of addressing that knowledge to herself; and she felt it the more sensibly, from having hitherto found her scientific sympathies with her deceased husband treated with no great respect by the people with whom she came in contact. “Have you extended your inquiries, sir,” she proceeded, after a momentary hesitation, “to my late husband’s branch of science? I merely ask, Mr. Bygrave, because (though I am only a woman) I think I might exchange ideas with you on the subject of the reptile creation.”

Captain Wragge was far too sharp to risk his ready-made science on the enemy’s ground. The old militiaman shook his wary head.

“Too vast a subject, ma’am,” he said, “for a smatterer like me. The life and labors of such a philosopher as your husband, Mrs. Lecount, warn men of my intellectual caliber not to measure themselves with a giant. May I inquire,” proceeded the captain, softly smoothing the way for future intercourse with Sea-View Cottage, “whether you possess any scientific memorials of the late Professor?”

“I possess his tank, sir,” said Mrs. Lecount, modestly casting her eyes on the ground, “and one of his subjects⁠—a little foreign toad.”

“His tank!” exclaimed the captain, in tones of mournful interest; “and his toad! Pardon my blunt way of speaking my mind, ma’am. You possess an object of public interest; and, as one of the public,