As might be expected， the memorable case of Parsons and Douse proved to be the turning point in Geoffrey's career， which was thenceforward one of brilliant and startling success. On the very next morning when he reached his chambers it was to find three heavy briefs awaiting him， and they proved to be but the heralds of an uninterrupted flow of lucrative business. Of course， he was not a Queen's Counsel， but now that his great natural powers of advocacy had become generally known， solicitors frequently employed him alone， or gave him another junior， so that he might bring those powers to bear upon juries. Now it was， too， that Geoffrey reaped the fruits of the arduous legal studies which he had followed without cessation from the time when he found himself thrown upon his own resources， and which had made a sound lawyer of him as well as a brilliant and effective advocate. Soon， even with his great capacity for work， he had as much business as he could attend to. When fortune gives good gifts， she generally does so with a lavish hand.
Thus it came to pass that， about three weeks after the trial of Parsons and Douse， Geoffrey's uncle the solicitor died， and to his surprise left him twenty thousand pounds， "believing，" he said in his will， which was dated three days before the testator's death， "that this sum will assist him to rise to the head of his profession."Now that it had dawned upon her that her husband really was a success， Honoria's manner towards him modified very considerably. She even became amiable， and once or twice almost affectionate. When Geoffrey told her of the twenty thousand pounds she was radiant.
"Why， we shall be able to go back to Bolton Street now，" she said， "and as luck will have it， our old house is to let. I saw a bill in the window yesterday.""Yes，" he said， "you can go back as soon as you like.""And can we keep a carriage？"
"No， not yet； I am doing well， but not well enough for that. Next year， if I live， you will be able to have a carriage. Don't begin to grumble， Honoria. I have got ā150 to spare， and if you care to come round to a jeweller's you can spend it on what you like.""Oh， you delightful person！" said his wife.
So they went to the jeweller's， and Lady Honoria bought ornaments to the value of ā150， and carried them home and hung over them， as another class of woman might hang over her first-born child， admiring them with a tender ecstasy. Whenever he had a sum of money that he could afford to part with， Geoffrey would take her thus to a jeweller's or a dressmaker's， and stand by coldly while she bought things to its value. Lady Honoria was delighted. It never entered into her mind that in a sense he was taking a revenge upon her， and that every fresh exhibition of her rejoicings over the good things thus provided added to his contempt for her.
Those were happy days for Lady Honoria！ She rejoiced in this return of wealth like a school-boy at the coming of the holidays， or a half-frozen wanderer at the rising of the sun. She had been miserable during all this night of poverty， as miserable as her nature admitted of， now she was happy again， as she understood happiness. For bred， educated， civilized--what you will--out of the more human passions， Lady Honoria had replaced them by this idol-worship of wealth， or rather of what wealth brings. It gave her a positive physical satisfaction； her beauty， which had begun to fade， came back to her；she looked five years younger. And all the while Geoffrey watched her with an ever-growing scorn.
Once it broke out. The Bolton Street house had been furnished； he gave her fifteen hundred pounds to do it， and with what things they owned she managed very well on that. They moved into it， and Honoria had set herself up with a sufficient supply of grand dresses and jewellery， suitable to her recovered position. One day however， it occurred to her that Effie was a child of remarkable beauty， who， if properly dressed， would look very nice in the drawing-room at tea-time. So she ordered a lovely costume for her--this deponent is not able to describe it， but it consisted largely of velvet and lace. Geoffrey heard nothing of this dress， but coming home rather early one afternoon--it was on a Saturday， he found the child being shown off to a room full of visitors， and dressed in a strange and wonderful attire with which， not unnaturally， she was vastly pleased. He said nothing at the time， but when at length the dropping fire of callers had ceased， he asked who put Effie into that dress.
"I did，" said Lady Honoria， "and a pretty penny it has cost， I can tell you. But I can't have the child come down so poorly clothed， it does not look well.""Then she can stay upstairs，" said Geoffrey frowning.
"What do you mean？" asked his wife.
"I mean that I will not have her decked out in those fine clothes.
They are quite unsuitable to her age. There is plenty of time for her to take to vanity.""I really don't understand you， Geoffrey. Why should not the child be handsomely dressed？""Why not！ Great heaven， Honoria， do you suppose that I want to see Effie grow up like you， to lead a life of empty pleasure-seeking idleness， and make a god of luxury. I had rather see her"--he was going to add， "dead first，" but checked himself and said--"have to work for her living. Dress yourself up as much as you like， but leave the child alone."Lady Honoria was furious， but she was also a little frightened. She had never heard her husband speak quite like this before， and there was something underneath his words that she did not quite understand.
Still less did she understand when on the Monday Geoffrey suddenly told her that he had fifty pounds for her to spend as she liked； then accompanied her to a mantle shop， and stood patiently by， smiling coldly while she invested it in lace and embroideries. Honoria thought that he was ****** reparation for his sharp words， and so he was， but to himself， and in another sense. Every time he gave her money in this fashion， Geoffrey felt like a man who has paid off a debt of honour.
