Download the full version of the textbook now at textbookfull.

com

Getting Started with SQL A Hands On Approach

for Beginners 1st Edition Thomas Nield

https://textbookfull.com/product/getting-started-
with-sql-a-hands-on-approach-for-beginners-1st-
edition-thomas-nield/

Explore and download more textbook at https://textbookfull.com

 Recommended digital products (PDF, EPUB, MOBI) that
you can download immediately if you are interested.

Make Getting Started with Processing A Hands On

Introduction to Making Interactive Graphics 2nd Edition
Casey Reas
https://textbookfull.com/product/make-getting-started-with-processing-
a-hands-on-introduction-to-making-interactive-graphics-2nd-edition-
casey-reas/
textbookfull.com

Make getting started with soldering a hands on guide to

making electrical and mechanical connections First Edition
Marc De Vinck
https://textbookfull.com/product/make-getting-started-with-soldering-
a-hands-on-guide-to-making-electrical-and-mechanical-connections-
first-edition-marc-de-vinck/
textbookfull.com

Getting Started with PhantomJS Beltran Aries

https://textbookfull.com/product/getting-started-with-phantomjs-
beltran-aries/

textbookfull.com

Economics of Land Degradation and Improvement – A Global

Assessment for Sustainable Development 1st Edition Ephraim
Nkonya
https://textbookfull.com/product/economics-of-land-degradation-and-
improvement-a-global-assessment-for-sustainable-development-1st-
edition-ephraim-nkonya/
textbookfull.com
ERCP the fundamentals 3rd Edition Peter B. Cotton

https://textbookfull.com/product/ercp-the-fundamentals-3rd-edition-
peter-b-cotton/

textbookfull.com

Coincidance A Head Test 1st Edition Robert Anton Wilson

https://textbookfull.com/product/coincidance-a-head-test-1st-edition-
robert-anton-wilson/

textbookfull.com

Monster Anthropology Ethnographic Explorations of

Transforming Social Worlds Through Monsters Yasmine
Musharbash
https://textbookfull.com/product/monster-anthropology-ethnographic-
explorations-of-transforming-social-worlds-through-monsters-yasmine-
musharbash/
textbookfull.com

Constantinople and its Hinterland Papers from the Twenty

seventh Spring Symposium of Byzantine Studies Oxford April
1993 Cyril Mango
https://textbookfull.com/product/constantinople-and-its-hinterland-
papers-from-the-twenty-seventh-spring-symposium-of-byzantine-studies-
oxford-april-1993-cyril-mango/
textbookfull.com

Discover your authentic self be you be free be happy First

Edition Sherrie Dillard

https://textbookfull.com/product/discover-your-authentic-self-be-you-
be-free-be-happy-first-edition-sherrie-dillard/

textbookfull.com
Teaching philosophy a guide 1st Edition Steven M. Cahn

https://textbookfull.com/product/teaching-philosophy-a-guide-1st-
edition-steven-m-cahn/

textbookfull.com
Getting Started with

SQL
A HANDS-ON APPROACH
FOR BEGINNERS

Thomas Nield
Getting Started with SQL
A Hands-on Approach for Beginners

Thomas Nield

Boston
Getting Started with SQL
by Thomas Nield
Copyright © 2016 Thomas Nield. All rights reserved.
Printed in the United States of America.
Published by O’Reilly Media, Inc., 1005 Gravenstein Highway North, Sebastopol, CA 95472.
O’Reilly books may be purchased for educational, business, or sales promotional use. Online editions are
also available for most titles (http://safaribooksonline.com). For more information, contact our corporate/
institutional sales department: 800-998-9938 or [email protected].

Editor: Shannon Cutt Indexer: Ellen Troutman-Zaig

Production Editor: Shiny Kalapurakkel Interior Designer: David Futato
Copyeditor: Jasmine Kwityn Cover Designer: Randy Comer
Proofreader: Rachel Head Illustrator: Rebecca Demarest

February 2016: First Edition

Revision History for the First Edition

2016-02-08: First Release

See http://oreilly.com/catalog/errata.csp?isbn=9781491938614 for release details.

The O’Reilly logo is a registered trademark of O’Reilly Media, Inc. Getting Started with SQL, the cover
image, and related trade dress are trademarks of O’Reilly Media, Inc.
While the publisher and the author have used good faith efforts to ensure that the information and
instructions contained in this work are accurate, the publisher and the author disclaim all responsibility
for errors or omissions, including without limitation responsibility for damages resulting from the use of
or reliance on this work. Use of the information and instructions contained in this work is at your own
risk. If any code samples or other technology this work contains or describes is subject to open source
licenses or the intellectual property rights of others, it is your responsibility to ensure that your use
thereof complies with such licenses and/or rights.

978-1-491-93861-4
[LSI]
 Table of Contents

Foreword. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii

Preface. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix

1. Why Learn SQL?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

What Is SQL and Why Is It Marketable? 1
Who Is SQL For? 2

2. Databases. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 3
What Is a Database? 3
Exploring Relational Databases 3
Why Separate Tables? 4
Choosing a Database Solution 5
Lightweight Databases 5
Centralized Databases 6

3. SQLite. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 9
What Is SQLite? 9
SQLiteStudio 9
Importing and Navigating Databases 10

4. SELECT. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 19
Retrieving Data with SQL 19
Expressions in SELECT Statements 23
Text Concatenation 27
Summary 28

iii
5. WHERE. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 29
Filtering Records 29
Using WHERE on Numbers 30
AND, OR, and IN Statements 31
Using WHERE on Text 32
Using WHERE on Booleans 34
Handling NULL 34
Grouping Conditions 36
Summary 37

6. GROUP BY and ORDER BY. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 39

Grouping Records 39
Ordering Records 41
Aggregate Functions 42
The HAVING Statement 45
Getting Distinct Records 46
Summary 46

7. CASE Statements. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 47
The CASE Statement 47
Grouping CASE Statements 48
The “Zero/Null” CASE Trick 49
Summary 52

8. JOIN. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 53
Stitching Tables Together 53
INNER JOIN 55
LEFT JOIN 58
Other JOIN Types 61
Joining Multiple Tables 61
Grouping JOINs 63
Summary 66

9. Database Design. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 67
Planning a Database 67
The SurgeTech Conference 69
ATTENDEE 69
COMPANY 69
PRESENTATION 70
ROOM 70
PRESENTATION_ATTENDANCE 70
Primary and Foreign Keys 70

iv | Table of Contents
 The Schema 71
Creating a New Database 73
CREATE TABLE 76
Setting the Foreign Keys 84
Creating Views 86
Summary 89

10. Managing Data. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91

INSERT 91
Multiple INSERTs 93
Testing the Foreign Keys 93
DELETE 94
TRUNCATE TABLE 94
UPDATE 95
DROP TABLE 95
Summary 95

11. Going Forward. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 97

A. Operators and Functions. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 101

B. Supplementary Topics. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 107

Index. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 113

Table of Contents | v
 Foreword

Over the past three decades, computers have taken over the world. Twenty-five years
ago, we lived analog. We communicated using an analog POTS telephone, we tuned
in to analog FM radio stations, and we went to the library and browsed the stacks for
information. Buildings were constructed using hand-drawn blueprints; graphic artists
worked with pen, brush, and ink; musicians plucked strings and blew into horns and
recorded on analog tape; and airplanes were controlled by physical cables connecting
the yoke to the control surfaces.
But now everything is computerized and digital. Consequently, every member of
society needs to be familiar with computers. That does not mean having the deep
knowledge of a techie, but just as poets need to study a little math and physics, and
just as mathematicians need to read a little poetry, so too does everybody today need
to know something about computers.
I think that this book really helps to address the knowledge gap between techies and
laypeople, by providing an accessible and easy-to-read discussion of SQL—a core
database technology.

—Richard Hipp, Creator of SQLite

vii
Visit https://textbookfull.com
now to explore a rich
collection of eBooks, textbook
and enjoy exciting offers!
 Preface

Nobody needs to learn how a car engine works in order to drive a car. The whole
point of technologies like SQL is to allow you to focus on the business problem, and
not worry about how the technical details are executed. This book will give you a
practical focus on using SQL, and will steer away from unnecessary technical details
that are likely not pertinent to your immediate needs. Much of the content revolves
around hands-on exercises with real databases you can download so you see how
concepts are applied. When you finish this book you will have practical knowledge to
work with databases, as well as use them to overcome your business challenges.

How to Use This Book

This book is designed to teach the fundamentals of SQL and working with databases.
Readers who have experience using Excel spreadsheets should find this material
accessible but still challenging. Individuals who have not worked with Excel may be
more challenged. It is helpful to be familiar with concepts used in Excel, such as rows,
columns, tables, mathematical expressions (e.g., Excel formulas), and aggregate calcu‐
lations (e.g., SUM, AVG, MIN, MAX, COUNT). These concepts will still be taught
here, but some practical Excel experience will help expedite understanding.
Basic computer literacy is required, and readers should know how to navigate folders
and copy/paste files, as well as download and save files from the Web.
As you go through the material, have a computer on hand to practice the examples.
While some people can learn by just reading, it is best to practice the material at some
point to reinforce the knowledge.
Proficiency comes through repeated use and practice. In your job, it is likely that you
will use some SQL functionalities heavily and others not as much. That is OK. It is
more important to become proficient in what your job requires, and consult this
book (or Google) as a reference when you need answers about an unfamiliar topic.

ix
When working with technology, you are never expected to know everything. As a
matter of fact, technology topics are so vast in number it would be impossible. So it is
helpful to develop a degree of tunnel vision and learn only enough to fulfill the task at
hand. Otherwise, you can get overwhelmed or distracted learning irrelevant topics.
Hopefully this book will give you a foundation of knowledge, and afterward you can
continue to learn about topics that are pertinent to you.
You are always welcome to reach out to me at [email protected], and I will answer
any questions to the best of my ability. If you have questions about positioning your
career with technical skillsets or have a SQL question, I might be able to help. I hope
that this material not only augments your skillset and career opportunities, but also
sparks new interests that excite you like it did for me.

Conventions Used in This Book

The following typographical conventions are used in this book:
Italic
Indicates new terms, URLs, email addresses, filenames, and file extensions.
Constant width
Used for program listings, as well as within paragraphs to refer to program ele‐
ments such as variable or function names, databases, data types, environment
variables, statements, and keywords.
Constant width bold
Shows commands or other text that should be typed literally by the user.
Constant width italic
Shows text that should be replaced with user-supplied values or by values deter‐
mined by context.

This element signifies a general note.

Using Code Examples

Supplemental material (code examples, exercises, etc.) is available for download at
https://github.com/thomasnield/oreilly_getting_started_with_sql.
This book is here to help you get your job done. In general, if example code is offered
with this book, you may use it in your programs and documentation. You do not
need to contact us for permission unless you’re reproducing a significant portion of

x | Preface
the code. For example, writing a program that uses several chunks of code from this
book does not require permission. Selling or distributing a CD-ROM of examples
from O’Reilly books does require permission. Answering a question by citing this
book and quoting example code does not require permission. Incorporating a signifi‐
cant amount of example code from this book into your product’s documentation does
require permission.
We appreciate, but do not require, attribution. An attribution usually includes the
title, author, publisher, and ISBN. For example: “Getting Started with SQL by Thomas
Nield (O’Reilly). Copyright 2016 Thomas Nield, 978-1-4919-3861-4.”
If you feel your use of code examples falls outside fair use or the permission given
above, feel free to contact us at [email protected].

Safari® Books Online

Safari Books Online is an on-demand digital library that deliv‐
ers expert content in both book and video form from the
world’s leading authors in technology and business.

Technology professionals, software developers, web designers, and business and crea‐
tive professionals use Safari Books Online as their primary resource for research,
problem solving, learning, and certification training.
Safari Books Online offers a range of plans and pricing for enterprise, government,
education, and individuals.
Members have access to thousands of books, training videos, and prepublication
manuscripts in one fully searchable database from publishers like O’Reilly Media,
Prentice Hall Professional, Addison-Wesley Professional, Microsoft Press, Sams, Que,
Peachpit Press, Focal Press, Cisco Press, John Wiley & Sons, Syngress, Morgan Kauf‐
mann, IBM Redbooks, Packt, Adobe Press, FT Press, Apress, Manning, New Riders,
McGraw-Hill, Jones & Bartlett, Course Technology, and hundreds more. For more
information about Safari Books Online, please visit us online.

Preface | xi
How to Contact Us
Please address comments and questions concerning this book to the publisher:

O’Reilly Media, Inc.

1005 Gravenstein Highway North
Sebastopol, CA 95472
800-998-9938 (in the United States or Canada)
707-829-0515 (international or local)
707-829-0104 (fax)

We have a web page for this book, where we list errata, examples, and any additional
information. You can access this page at http://bit.ly/getting-started-with-sql.
To comment or ask technical questions about this book, send email to bookques‐
[email protected].
For more information about our books, courses, conferences, and news, see our web‐
site at http://www.oreilly.com.
Find us on Facebook: http://facebook.com/oreilly
Follow us on Twitter: http://twitter.com/oreillymedia
Watch us on YouTube: http://www.youtube.com/oreillymedia

Acknowledgments
I am blessed to have amazing people surrounding me, and I realize how central they
have been in my life and everything I do. If it was not for them, this book would
probably not have happened.
First and foremost, I would like to thank my mom and dad. They have given every‐
thing to secure my future. I know for a fact that I would not have the opportunities I
have today if it was not for them. My dad worked hard to provide a better education
for my brothers and me, and my mother always pushed me forward, even when I
resisted. She taught me to never settle and always struggle through my limits.
I cannot express enough gratitude toward my leaders, managers, and colleagues at
Southwest Airlines Revenue Management. Justin Jones and Timothy Keeney have a
warrior spirit and zeal for innovation that few possess. They truly define the leader‐
ship and spirit of Southwest Airlines, but more importantly they are good guys. They
will always be my friends and they’ve made it hard to imagine a life without South‐
west Airlines.

xii | Preface
Robert Haun, Brice Taylor, and Allison Russell continuously work to make our team
the forefront of innovation and continuously pursue new ideas, and I am blessed to
work in the environment they have helped create. I also have to thank Matt Louis for
bringing me on board at Revenue Management, and Steven Barsalou who made me
realize how little I really knew about SQL. Steven is the first person who came to
mind when I needed a reviewer for this book, and I am grateful he came on board
this project.
Then there is the project team I work with every day: Brian Denholm, Paul Zigler,
Bridget Green, Todd Randolph, and Chris Solomon. As a team, the feats we pull off
never cease to amaze me. Brian is the kind of project manager that can effectively
bridge technology and business jargon together, and he will not hesitate to get his
hands dirty with SQL and the occasional code review. I want to give a special thanks
to Chris Solomon for helping me with everything I do every day. He not only has a
rare talent to absorb high volumes of technical knowledge and maintain it in a busi‐
ness perspective, but he is also a nice guy that I am privileged to be friends with.
Chris is always a key player in any project, and I was thrilled when he agreed to
review this book.
I cannot forget the great people who worked at Southwest Airlines Ground Ops
Safety Regulatory Compliance, including Marc Stank, Reuben Miller, Mary Noel
Hennes, and everybody else I had the privilege of working with. I interned and con‐
tracted with that department a few years back and some of my fondest memories are
there. It was there I discovered my passion for technology, and they provided many
opportunities for me to pursue that, whether it was throwing together databases or
prototyping an iPad app.
When I announced I was publishing this book I did not expect Richard Hipp, the
founder and creator of SQLite, to reach out to me. Richard graciously stepped up to
be the technical reviewer for this book and it has been a tremendous honor to have
him on board. The technology community continues to amaze me, and the fact
Richard Hipp joined this project shows how unique and close-knit the community
really is.
Shannon Cutt has been my editor at O’Reilly for this book. This is my first book and I
was uncertain what the publishing experience would be like. But Shannon made pub‐
lishing such a pleasant experience that I am eager to write again. Thanks Shannon,
you have been awesome!
Last but not least, I want to thank Watermark Church and the volunteers at Careers
in Motion for creating the vehicle that made this book happen. I initially wrote this
“book” as a public service to help unemployed professionals in the Dallas area. It was
at their encouragement that I decided to publish it, and I want to give a special thanks
to Martha Garza for her insistence. I have learned remarkable things can happen
when you give your time to help others.

Preface | xiii
 CHAPTER 1
Why Learn SQL?

What Is SQL and Why Is It Marketable?

It is an obvious statement that the business landscape is shifting rapidly. A lot of this
is enabled by technology and the explosion of business data. Companies are investing
vast amounts of capital to gather and warehouse data. But what many business lead‐
ers and managers currently struggle with is how to make sense of this data and use it.
This is where SQL, which stands for Structured Query Language, comes in. It provides
a means to access and manipulate this data in meaningful ways and provide business
insights not possible before.
Businesses are gathering data at exponential rates, and there is an equally growing
need for people who know how to analyze and manage it. Stack Overflow, the most
active programming community in the world, performed a comprehensive survey on
its members in 2015. Apple coding was the most in-demand technology and had an
average salary nearing six figures. But SQL came in in fifth place, with a salary that
was not far behind. In recent years, data has suddenly become ubiquitous—yet few
people know how to access it meaningfully, which has put SQL talent in high
demand.

1
Who Is SQL For?
One misperception about SQL is that it is an IT skill and therefore only applicable to
technology (not business) professionals. In the world as it exists today, this is hardly
the truth. Businesspeople, managers, IT professionals, and engineers can all reap ben‐
efits from learning SQL to better position their careers. SQL can open many career
paths because it enables individuals to know their businesses better through the data
that is driving them. On the business side, interest in SQL can lead to roles that are
analytical, managerial, strategic, and research- or project-based. On the IT front, it
can lead to roles in database design, database administration, systems engineering, IT
project management, and even software development.

2 | Chapter 1: Why Learn SQL?

 CHAPTER 2
Databases

What Is a Database?
In the broadest definition, a database is anything that collects and organizes data. A
spreadsheet holding customer bookings is a database, and so is a plain-text file con‐
taining flight schedule data. Plain-text data itself can be stored in a variety of formats,
including XML and CSV.
Professionally, however, when one refers to a “database” they likely are referring to a
relational database management system (RDBMS). This term may sound technical
and intimidating, but an RDBMS is simply a type of database that holds one or more
tables that may have relationships to each other.

Exploring Relational Databases

A table should be a familiar concept. It has columns and rows to store data, much like
a spreadsheet. These tables can have relationships to each other, such as an ORDER
table that refers to a CUSTOMER table for customer information.
For example, suppose we have an ORDER table with a field called CUSTOMER_ID
(Figure 2-1).

Figure 2-1. An ORDER table with a CUSTOMER_ID

3
We can reasonably expect there to be another table, maybe called CUSTOMER
(Figure 2-2), which holds the customer information for each CUSTOMER_ID.

Figure 2-2. A CUSTOMER table

When we go through the ORDER table, we can use the CUSTOMER_ID to look up the cus‐
tomer information in the CUSTOMER table. This is the fundamental idea behind a “rela‐
tional database,” where tables may have fields that point to information in other
tables. This concept may sound familiar if you’ve used VLOOKUP in Excel to retrieve
information in one sheet from another sheet in a workbook.

Why Separate Tables?

But why are these tables separated and designed this way? The motivation is normal‐
ization, which is separating the different types of data into their own tables rather
than putting them in one table. If we had all information in a single table, it would be
redundant, bloated, and very difficult to maintain. Imagine if we stored customer
information in the ORDER table. Figure 2-3 shows what it would look like.

Figure 2-3. A table that is not normalized

Notice that for the Re-Barre Construction orders someone had to populate the cus‐
tomer information three times for all three orders (the name, region, street address,
city, state, and zip). This is very redundant, takes up unnecessary storage space, and is
difficult to maintain. Imagine if a customer had an address change and you had to
update all the orders to reflect that. This is why it is better to separate CUSTOMERS and
ORDERS into two separate tables. If you need to change a customer’s address, you only
need to change one record in the CUSTOMER table (Figure 2-4).

4 | Chapter 2: Databases
Visit https://textbookfull.com
now to explore a rich
collection of eBooks, textbook
and enjoy exciting offers!
Figure 2-4. A normalized table

We will explore table relationships again in Chapter 8, and learn how to use the JOIN
operator to merge tables in a query so the customer information can be viewed along‐
side the order.

Choosing a Database Solution

Relational databases and SQL are not proprietary. However, there are several compa‐
nies and communities that have developed their own relational database software, all
of which use tables and leverage SQL. Some database solutions are lightweight and
simple, storing data in a single file accessible to a small number of users. Other data‐
base solutions are massive and run on a server, supporting thousands of users and
applications simultaneously. Some database solutions are free and open source, while
others require commercial licenses.
For the sake of practicality, we will divide database solutions into two categories: light‐
weight and centralized. These are not necessarily the industry vernacular, but they will
help clarify the distinction.

Lightweight Databases
If you are seeking a simple solution for one user or a small number of users (e.g., your
coworkers), a lightweight database is a good place to start. Lightweight databases have
little to no overhead, meaning they have no servers and are very nimble. Databases
are typically stored in a file you can share with others, although it starts to break
down when multiple people make edits to the file simultaneously. When you run into
this problem, you may want to consider migrating to a centralized database.
The two most common lightweight databases are SQLite and Microsoft Access.
SQLite is what we will use in this book. It is free, lightweight, and intuitive to use. It is
used in most of the devices we touch and can be found in smartphones, satellites, air‐
craft, and car systems. It has virtually no size limitation and is ideal for environments
where it is not used by more than one person (or at most a few people). Among many
other uses, SQLite is ideal to learn SQL due to its ease of installation and simplicity.
Microsoft Access has been around for a while and is inferior to SQLite in terms of
scalability and performance. But it is heavily used in business environments and

Choosing a Database Solution | 5

worth being familiar with. It has many visual tools for writing queries without using
SQL, as well as visual form designers and macro abilities. There are many jobs avail‐
able to take ownership of Microsoft Access databases and maintain them, as well as
migrating them to better database platforms such as MySQL.

Centralized Databases
If you expect tens, hundreds, or thousands of users and applications to use a database
simultaneously, lightweight databases are not going to cut it. You need a centralized
database that runs on a server and handles a high volume of traffic efficiently. There
is a wide array of centralized database solutions to choose from, including the follow‐
ing:

• MySQL
• Microsoft SQL Server
• Oracle
• PostgreSQL
• Teradata
• IBM DB2
• MariaDB

You can install some of these solutions on any computer and turn that computer into
a server. You can then connect users’ computers (also known as clients) to the server
so they can access the data. The client can send a SQL statement requesting specific
data, and the server processes the request and returns the answer. This is a classic
client–server setup. The client requests something, and the server gives it.
While you can turn any MacBook or cheap PC into a MySQL server, larger traffic vol‐
umes require more specialized computers (called server computers) optimized for
server tasks. These are typically maintained by an IT department whose members
administrate and control databases formally deemed critical to the business.

Do not be confused by the term “SQL” being used to brand data‐

base platforms such as MySQL, Microsoft SQL Server, and SQLite.
SQL is the universal language to work with data on all these plat‐
forms. They merely used “SQL” in their names for marketing.

As you enter a workplace, chances are an existing centralized database might exist
with information you need, and you will need to request access to it. While we will
not be covering centralized databases in this book, the experience between different
database solutions should largely be the same. Across all database solutions, you use

6 | Chapter 2: Databases
SQL to interact with tables in a pretty uniform way, and even the SQL editor tools are
somewhat similar. Each solution may have nuances to its implementation of SQL,
such as date functionalities, but everything in this book should be universally applica‐
ble.
If you ever do need to create a centralized database solution, I would highly recom‐
mend MySQL. It is open source, free to use, and straightforward to install and set up.
It is used by Facebook, Google, eBay, Twitter, and hundreds of other Silicon Valley
companies.
With a conceptual understanding of databases, we can now start working with them.
Although we will use SQLite in this book, keep in mind it uses SQL, so the knowledge
you gain is applicable to all database platforms.

Choosing a Database Solution | 7

 CHAPTER 3
SQLite

What Is SQLite?
As discussed in the previous chapter, there are many places to put data. But often‐
times we want a quick, easy place to put data without all the hassle of a client–server
setup. We want to store data in a simple file and edit it just as easily as a Word docu‐
ment. This is an optimal situation to use SQLite.
SQLite is the most widely distributed database in the world. It is put on iPhones,
iPads, Android devices, Windows phones, thermostats, car consoles, satellites, and
many other modern devices that need to store and retrieve data easily. It is used heav‐
ily in the Windows 10 operating system as well as the Airbus A350 XWB aircraft. It
excels where simplicity and low overhead is needed. It is also great for prototyping
business databases.
But every technology has a trade-off. Because it has no server managing access to it, it
fails in multiuser environments where multiple people can simultaneously edit the
SQLite file. Still, for our training purposes, SQLite is perfect.

SQLiteStudio
There are many SQL editors you can use to work with a SQLite database. I strongly
recommend using SQLiteStudio, as it is intuitive and makes it easy to explore and
manage a database. We are going to use that application in this book. You can down‐
load it at http://sqlitestudio.pl/?act=download. Be sure to choose Windows, Mac, or
Linux for your respective OS. Then open the downloaded folder and copy it to a loca‐
tion of your choice. No installation is needed. To start SQLiteStudio, double-click
SQLiteStudio.exe (Figure 3-1). You can also create a shortcut on your desktop so you
can easily launch the application in the future.

9
Random documents with unrelated
content Scribd suggests to you:
 “Because,” she spoke passionately, “you may love it—would love it;
and I cannot spare one thought, one word, one look of yours!”
I sighed, I could not help it. Then I reminded her of a great oak we
had seen during an expedition with Dr. Hildyard into the adjacent
county. We had paused to look at the giant, around whose spreading
branches ivy had climbed and twisted until bough after bough was
dying.
She had said:
“That ivy clings to the tree like I cling to you.”
“The ivy is choking the life out of the oak,” said I; “it is to be hoped
you will not do the same by me.”
I said it, and she took it, jestingly. But, as I told her, if matters do
not mend—if I cannot at least have freedom for study, or to go to
town now and then on business and to look people up, my end may
be the same as the oak’s.
She was all penitence, all promises; nor would she leave the study
until I had given her my word that I would for the future go on my
own way regardless of her feelings, which she would try to modify by
degrees.
Before we retired for the night, I had promised to go to town to-
day for some scientific works I particularly want, and to transact
neglected business.
Sunday, May —.

Only two days! It seems weeks—weeks of horror, anxiety—since I

wrote those last words.
I went to town, got my books, saw Dr. Hildyard, etcetera, and
returned by the seven o’clock train. Thomas was to meet me at the
station with the dogcart. He was there. At first I noticed nothing
unusual, but the instant I reached my seat he drove off at a
tremendous rate.
“Gently, gently!” I cried. “What’s wrong with Firefly?”
“Nothing’s wrong with the hoss, sir,” he said, gruffly; “but we’ve
had visitors to-day, and whether it’s them or not I don’t know, but
the missus is upset, like.”
“Is your mistress ill?” I cried, startled, dreading I knew not what.
 “I dunno, sir,” was all I could get out of Thomas for some minutes,
until I was really angry, when he blurted out that “one of them Pyms
—the old ’un, he thought,” had come and had had a long interview
with my wife, since which no one had seen her or had been able to
find her.
Distracted, I had poor Firefly driven home at racing speed, and
searched, first the house, then the grounds, with lanterns.
No result. I feared calling her name, for the cottagers might hear,
and there would be fresh talk such as that Daisy repeated to me.
May I never, never have to go through such a time again! I was
getting mad with anxiety and fear when something seemed to say to
me—not in my ear, but in my mind:
“Her father’s grave.”
With a flash of hope, I bade the men who accompanied me stay
where they were; and taking a lantern went on into the churchyard
alone.
The lantern sent a flicker upon a black heap on the grass: Lilia,
asleep—or dead?
Her dress was wet to the touch, drenched with dew. Feeling half
crazy with dread, I gently shook her.
She started, and staring with dazed eyes, sat up, rubbed her eyes
(thank God! she had only been asleep, but that was bad enough!).
Then she said, “Oh, dear!” looked at me, first with sharp inquiry,
then with a smile, and held out her hands to be lifted up.
“How could you?” I said, as she clung to me.
“My uncle Pym came and said cruel things; said your inhuman
treatment of me was the talk of the countryside: that I owed it to
myself to leave you and go and live with him; and when I told him
what I thought of him, got in a fearful rage, told me I was a fool and a
dupe, and I should rue it, and went away,” she said, in her direct,
childish manner. “Then I felt very bad—so lonely—and came here. I
could not help crying, and I expect I cried myself to sleep. But I am
not sorry!” she added, triumphantly, “for you look so ill, that I see
you have really cared; that you really do love me!”
If I had not been so thankful to find and hold my darling to my
heart once more, this would have been exasperating.
 “Lilia, your absurd want of faith will be your ruin,” I told her. “Do
you know that since our first meeting my experience of you has
taught me that Faith is not only necessary to people’s happiness, but
to their soundness in mind and body?”
Then I cautioned her to be careful what she said and did before
those men—there would be talk enough of to-day’s incidents as it
was,—and we went back to the house.
But the shock of that malignant old man’s visit had its natural
result. Before morning my darling was suffering greatly. As soon as
the telegraph-office was open I wired to Dr. Taylor (the specialist to
whom Dr. Hildyard had introduced me, and who had promised to
come to us if necessary). By midday he came. Towards evening a
pale, delicate little boy was taken to his mother to be kissed. She was
quite revived by the fact that he was a boy.
“You may say I am selfish! I am,” she said, wistfully, to me
afterwards. “But if it had been a girl, and you had loved her like my
father loved me, what room would there have been in your heart for
me?”
June —.

The little one is a week old to-day. It is very sweet to see mother
and son together. I could sit and look at them by the hour. But “Life
is real, life is earnest!” as the great author of that incomparable
“Psalm of Life” says; and all the more that the boy has come upon the
scene, I must be “up and doing, with a heart for any fate!”
Any fate! what fate can I fear, with those two precious ones to love
and work for?
July —.

Can I, this wretched, hopeless wreck, groping in a thick darkness,

where not the faintest gleam of hope tells me what I am, where I am,
how I am to bear my life—can I be the fool who wrote that last entry?
Fool, fool! I boasted of a to-morrow. If ever any eyes see this—man
or woman,—I solemnly warn you, never, NEVER, whatever happens,
however you may have been blessed, look upon to-morrow with
anything approaching to the feeling (was it confidence or
presumption?) with which I wrote those last words.
 It was all sunshine that day; next day the storm was down upon me
with a vengeance.
My darling was lying on the sofa (it was a sultry afternoon) by the
window. We were looking over a map together, discussing where we
should all go for change of air as soon as she might travel, when
suddenly she asked me “if I would mind shutting the window.”
“I think the wind must have changed,” she said, pulling her little
shawl together over her shoulders; “I feel quite cold.”
She could not possibly have had a chill; the air itself was like that
which comes from a heated oven. However, I closed the window. I
had hardly done so when she was seized with shivering.
I called Nurse, who is a kind, but highly-experienced woman. I
called her in fear. I saw her look swiftly at Lilia, then at me.
Then I knew. We both pretended to Lilia to think nothing of the
rigours which shook her and turned her lips blue over her chattering
teeth; but I stole my opportunity, rushed downstairs, sent off a
telegram to Dr. Taylor, despatched a messenger for the Mervyns. I
could not face this alone: I turned coward. I “groaned in my anguish,
and the thorn fastened in me.”
And when I went back—the pity of it—Nurse struggling to lift the
pale, suffering darling into bed, and baby crying piteously in the next
room; while she said piteously to me, “He might be quiet till I get
warm, mightn’t he?”
Poor infant! if he were quiet till his mother got warm, he would
never cry again.
I sent Nurse to quiet him, and waited on her myself. I did
everything, I hazarded everything I dared, to bring about a reaction.
But presently she complained of her chest.
“I feel as if they had taken one of those hideous flat stones off a
grave and laid it on my chest,” she said, gazing at me with eyes that
looked bluer and more staring than those dear grey eyes had ever
looked. “What is it? Is there anything wrong with my heart, Hugh!
Tell me, is it my heart?” (with alarm).
“Stuff!” I said. “I let you sit up too long, and you are chilly, that’s
all.”
Then I began, watching her stealthily, to talk as easily as I could.
 Her features were paling into an ugly yellow, her eyes were
sinking, and her nose looked pinched. Nurse, coming to the bed with
a cheerful “Well, dear, are you all right now?” gave me a look that,
knowing well enough what was happening, stabbed my very soul.
“Rather quick, don’t you think so?” she managed to whisper to me.
She need not have whispered. I knew my wife was sinking away
from me as fast as any human being has ever sunk from time into
eternity.
And how—how was she going?
“What is making that buzzing noise? I can’t hear you two,” she said
presently. “And, Hugh, raise me, or I shall choke!”
She was gasping. I raised her. She did not feel cold now. Nurse was
fanning her.
No hope for anyone to come! I felt desperate. Just then she said,
“You fan me; Nurse—baby.” So Nurse gave me the fan and went
away. The dying must be obeyed.
As I held her—a dead weight—on one arm and fanned her with my
disengaged hand, she looked up at me with a terrible look—the most
hopeless, yet defiant and angered, look I have ever seen in human
eyes. I once saw it in a celebrated picture of “Lucifer at His
Condemnation,” and, remembering this, it was hell to see it in my
wife’s eyes now.
“I must know,” she said, in her altered voice. “Is this death?”
“It may be,” I faltered. I dared not withhold the awful truth.
She smiled—a sneering, derisive smile.
“And you still believe in a good God?” she said.
“More than ever!” I said, my very life in my words. “Darling, how
could I live and see you like this if God did not hold me, help me? I
should be like a dead thing—helpless—and you know I am holding
you up. I am calm, I can talk, by the mercy of God——”
“Hush!” she said, violently, with a tremendous effort raising
herself (she was gradually slipping down, hold her how I might). “Do
not say any more about that. Tell me, how long have I——”
“My darling, I have sent for Dr. Taylor; we must not give up hope,”
I said. In my agony of despair the words mocked me like so many
separate and distinct lies. “He may do something. Why should you
die? You are so young——”
“I asked you, how long?” she repeated. “I have something to say.”
“Days—I mean hours,” I stammered, lying hard and fast in my
misery.
She feebly shook her head.
“No, no!” she said; “perhaps in a minute. I want you to promise
your dying wife something. Will you—whatever I ask?”
“Anything! anything!” I said. “Your will is my will now!”
“Anything?” she repeated.
Drops, those last cold drops, were on her brow.
“I swear—anything,” I said, recklessly.
“Ah!” she laughed.
Yes, let me remember that, in her hour of agony, I pleased her so—
that once more, for the last time, I heard that sweet little joyous
laugh.
“Well,” she said, “as soon as I am dead, go downstairs. In the right-
hand drawer of my father’s writing-table you will find a small
revolver. I have kept it loaded. Shoot yourself! We shall then be as
much together as we are now. You will?”
It was an awful struggle—her dying eyes gazing into mine. At last I
said:
“I—will.”
“Now I don’t hate this God of yours quite so much,” she began,
when suddenly her face was convulsed, a rattle came in her throat,
her eyes glazed.
Minutes passed—half-an-hour; then (she had been dead a quarter-
of-an-hour) I left her body, her beautiful young lifeless body, to
Nurse, after kissing those dear lips for the last time, and I went to
fulfil my promise.
I locked the library door, and, opening the drawer, found not only
a revolver, but a case of pistols. The revolver seemed to me
untrustworthy, so I cleaned one of the pistols, and loaded it. Did I
feel remorse, anxiety, as to my future? I did not. I felt absolutely
apathetic, commonplace, as a body, I imagine, might feel without its
soul, if its life could continue under those conditions.
I had just completed the loading to my satisfaction when there was
a knock at the door.
“I will come presently,” I said.
“Please, let me in,” said Mrs. Mervyn. “Baby fell off the sofa and is
hurt. I have brought him.”
Her child! For an instant the room whirled; then an agony of grief
welled up within me. The poor, innocent child!—our child!
Senselessly, I staggered to the door, opened it, and took the babe
from Mrs. Mervyn. He was not much hurt—a wound on the head of
but slight importance.
Turning to reassure Mrs. Mervyn, I saw her gazing at the pistols as
if she were petrified.
“You meant this?” she said to me, her face aflame like the face of
the accusing Angel. “What a love God must have had for you, for you
to have been saved!”
Walking to me, she took baby’s hand and laid it on mine.
“He has saved you,” she said. “Oh, never, never forget it!”
 CHAPTER IX.
THE BEGINNING OF THE SEQUEL.

At first Hugh felt and seemed crushed. He had thought of many

difficulties and troubles that might await him in his married life, but
the one thing which had not entered into his calculations—Lilia’s
death—was the unexpected occurrence which happened.
He had sometimes felt, from the first beginning of their married
life, that something was hanging over him—some fatality. The whole
story of his acquaintance with the Pyms was so strange, that the
memory of it oppressed him. Perhaps this accounted for the feeling
of discomfort which was now and then almost a dread of the future.
There were moments when he had thought that perhaps he was
destined to die early; and he had made his will carefully, after much
consultation with Mr. Mervyn, who was always, as it were, ready to
hand during his short married life. Never, never once did he think he
was to lose his beautiful tormentor, and so tragically.
At first he was prostrate. No one could rouse him. His father came
to him and stayed. Dr. Hildyard spent his Sundays at the Pinewood.
But efforts to coax and even startle him out of his gloom were
fruitless. For a whole year he could not shake off the vivid
recollection of what none but himself knew—the crowning horror of
Lilia’s death-bed, her awful request, and his promise.
But through all this darkness of soul his faith did not waver. He
reproached himself bitterly that he had not insisted more, struggled
more, to help Lilia in her uncertainty, her unbelief. He blamed
himself for her dying blasphemy, and for what he considered his
cowardice in promising to kill himself. He went through their short
life together over and over again, telling himself that at this juncture
he ought to have said and done this thing, at such another that. He
spent his days in listless wanderings about the Pinewood; his nights,
or the best part of them, in feverish study, which availed him little or
nothing. Thus passed the first year of his widowerhood.
Then came another sharp shock—the death of his good, kind
friend, Dr. Hildyard, after a short illness of ten days.
During those ten days of close attendance upon his patron, Hugh’s
eyes were opened. He saw that, the existence of which in a human
being he had never suspected, never believed possible, a lofty soul.
Doctors are proverbially the worst patients. Dr. Hildyard, well
aware that this was the end of his career, was a little impatient,
perhaps, as to remedies which could not possibly reverse the fiat. In
a few days his soul would be required of him, he knew that. He bore
his physical agony with stoicism; his anxiety to leave his affairs in
perfect order was so intense, it was a greater soporific than any
narcotic. He talked much and often, between the paroxysms, to the
young man in whose genius his faith had never wavered. He told his
life—the difficulties he had successfully fought against and overcome,
the awful temptations he had struggled with to the bitter end, the
enmities which had dogged his footsteps and poisoned his simplest
enjoyments—to Hugh. Each day of Dr. Hildyard’s existence, each day
of that man who was supposed to be one of the most enviable beings
in creation, who was in receipt of splendid fees, courted by all
classes, the much-lauded hero of the medical press and the secretly
hated of all the unsuccessful of the faculty (and their name is legion),
was a miniature martyrdom; and he was awaiting his release with
eager joy—a joy only damped by remorse that he had not done
better, had not been a more faithful servant of the Giver of All.
“The miserable way in which I have crawled through my
difficulties!” he wailed to his protégé. “Paull, never, never, fly low!
Soar over your temptations and troubles, or when you come to die
you will be ashamed of yourself, like I am!”
It was Dr. Hildyard’s exalted opinion of what a man should be, that
first abashed, then roused, Hugh to cast aside self and live a new life.
Very soon after his friend’s death he set himself resolutely to a
fresh beginning.
He had been strongly recommended by Dr. Hildyard to the
influential men who came to shake his hand for the last time; and his
start in practice as a specialist in nerve cases was made easy to him.
He took a house recently vacated by a well-known physician in a
street frequented by doctors near Regent Street, and soon had plenty
of patients, mostly former patients of Dr. Hildyard’s, who already
knew him by repute. Before five years were over he had made some
remarkable cures, had contributed some original and, in certain
cases, startling papers on obscure nervous diseases to the leading
medical journals, and was elected to appointments in four
metropolitan hospitals.
Then he was consulted by royalty, and his private practice doubled
itself. Ten years passed away, fifteen—it was now nineteen years
since the awful day of Lilia’s death—and Dr. Hugh Paull was not only
known throughout the English-speaking world, but his works were
translated into French, German, and Italian, and his name was
honoured by the medical profession in all countries.
His private life might be summed up in one word—Ralph.
Ralph was the name he had allotted to the puny pale babe who had
been the unconscious instrument of his salvation from self-murder.
Ralph had been the name of an invalid uncle, his father’s younger
brother, of whom he had pleasant childish recollections—a gentle,
white-faced young man stretched on a couch in a pretty garden, who
had seemed to know exactly what little boys liked, and to let them
have it. So when he stood, one of the little group of black-garmented
persons at the old stone font in the Pinewood church, and Mr.
Mervyn said, “Name this child,” he remembered his uncle and said
“Ralph.”
The delicate babe with the thoughtful blue eyes grew slowly and
painfully from babyhood into childhood, from childhood into youth.
At first Hugh felt the responsibility of being father and mother in one
to the fragile boy—a heavy care. The child was always in his mind, an
anxiety that never left him.
One day he had gone to a well-known educationist almost in
despair. After detailing his experiments in nursery training, which up
to then seemed a failure, he said, “What am I to do?”
“Leave the child alone, like I left mine,” said the authority. “Get
him a good nurse, and don’t interfere with her without necessity.
When you have done with the nurse, get him a good governess; then
send him to school.”
To Hugh, who had hitherto acted as a head-gardener devoted to
one sickly plant, the advice seemed rough. But he plucked up
courage, and acted upon it.
The boy grew up without many complications; but he was a
strange, silent lad. His two characteristics were an unappeasable love
of study and a concentrated, but undemonstrative, devotion to his
father.
From the beginning of the change in Hugh, when he first began his
professional life in London, it was his custom to spend Saturday and
Sunday at the Pinewood. The trio—the tall, now gaunt and careworn-
looking, man; the thin, effeminate boy, and the mastiff Nero, who
always dogged their heels (an immediate descendant of Hugh’s first
acquaintance at the Pinewood)—were familiar figures to the country
folk, who were attached to Dr. Paull with an attachment born of his
unvarying justice and kindliness.
Following the advice given by the authority, Ralph’s instruction in
matters of faith and dogma was strictly ordinary and orthodox; and
remembering the result of Lilia’s peculiar up-bringing, Hugh was
careful to throw his son into the company of others of his own age as
much as possible. He failed to see what others saw—that the boy
could not endure the companionship of his fellows, and only suffered
it because it was his father’s will.
Meanwhile, Ralph showed great aptitude for science, and at
nineteen was, to his great delight, appointed secretary to the famous
geologist W——, who had been one of his grandfather Sir Roderick’s
intimate friends. At the time of the second storm that shook Dr.
Paull’s life to its foundations, Ralph was away on a walking tour with
the great scientist. Hugh Paull was alone in his town house.
He was sitting at the large dining-table in the big, silent room. The
thin, dark-eyed man, whose prematurely white hair added a dignity
to the pensive beauty of his face, would have been a suggestive figure
to an imaginative painter. As he slowly ate his frugal dinner, his eyes
fixed as he continued some important train of thought, now and then
leaning back in his chair, and absently crumbling his bread, while the
old butler Jones hovered noiselessly about in the background, this
picture of well-appointed solitude might have been named
“Successful, but alone.” Perhaps never, until Ralph went on this tour,
had Hugh so realised his desolation.
It was the height of the London season, and that very day he had
had three important consultations beside hospital and other work.
But the silence of the huge, quiet house oppressed him. He found it
tiresome to eat. He was planning to tire himself further by preparing
a paper on a recent case for the Lancet when a carriage drove up to
the door, and there was a somewhat violent peal of the hall bell.
Jones, who had been butler to Dr. Hildyard till his death, and then
accepted service with Hugh in preference to any other, knew his rules
thoroughly. He was a spare little man, well fitted for his vocation; for
he had a respectful, almost soothing manner, which softened the
denials he had so often to give to nerve-patients wild to obtain the
immediate attendance of the great authority, Dr. Paull.
He went silently out, and gently opened the street door. The smart
single brougham and pair drawn up before the house was as
unfamiliar to him as were the two gentlemen standing on the
doorstep, one of whom was tall and fair, the other being short and
dark, with piercing black eyes and a thick black moustache. Both
were dressed in the height of fashion; in fact, were evidently petits-
maîtres.
It was the tall, fair man who, slightly lifting his hat, said in good
English, but with a foreign accent:
“Can we see Dr. Hugh Paull at once?”
The bold demand—for Hugh was now a “consulting physician,” to
be approached through the patient’s ordinary medical attendant—
nearly deprived poor Jones of breath. He gave but one gasp only
though, and remembering these were foreigners and ignoramuses in
medical etiquette, recovered himself, and said politely, but in a
somewhat shocked tone of voice:
“I am very sorry, sir, but that is quite impossible.”
The fair man turned to the dark one with a smile, and said
something rapidly in a foreign tongue, upon which the dark young
man produced a cardcase and presented Jones with his card, saying,
“Please, you will give the docteur,” in broken and very foreign-
sounding English.
 Jones, seeing the word “Prince” prefixed to a, to him, unreadable
and unpronounceable name, was somewhat startled, for the title
meant royalty to his British mind. For a moment he was puzzled;
then, saying, “Please, will you step this way?” he hurried along the
bare stone hall, and ushering the distinguished visitors into the
cheerless waiting-room, with the skylight, rows of dining-room
chairs against the walls, and an old dining-table, whose dingy cloth
was strewn with as dingily-covered volumes of illustrated journals,
hurried to his master with the card.
Hugh glanced at it listlessly, read “Le Prince Andriocchi,” and laid
it aside. Stray patients, arriving at odd moments, were always
dismissed with a certain formula, and Hugh was not giving a second
thought to the Prince Andriocchi or his card when an anxious voice
piped at his elbow, “What am I to say, sir?” and turning, he saw
Jones watching him in evident dismay.
“Say?” he asked. “To whom?”
“To the prince, sir! I took him into the waiting-room.”
“You took him into the waiting-room?” repeated Hugh, hardly
believing his own ears.
For a patient to be admitted outside regular hours and against all
rule was a most unwonted occurrence, and by Jones the
impregnable, the unassailable! Had a golden talisman—No! such an
idea was a treason to the faithful old servant.
“I thought as he was a prince, sir,” stammered Jones.
“Oh, well, never mind! I will explain to him that I cannot see him
now,” said Dr. Paull, good-naturedly, rising and going to the waiting-
room.
The two men were seated, but rose and bowed as he entered. The
tall fair man, who had candid blue eyes and an insinuating smile,
informed Hugh, in laboured but fairly correct English, that they had
been recommended to consult him by the Spanish ambassador,
whose son had been cured by him last season in so marvellous a
manner.
“But your highness is surely not Spanish?” asked Hugh, glancing at
the card he still held between his fingers.
“The prince,” said the fair man, bowing deferentially in the
direction of the dark little gentleman, who was watching them while
he nervously twisted his moustache, “is from Italy—is Italien. It is
madame la princesse who is from the land of chivalry. It is for
madame la princesse that we come to visit you.”
Hugh bowed.
“She is not very ill, I hope?” he said, awkwardly.
He had had but little experience of the denizens of other countries,
and this had been of their learned men, who have a family likeness
no matter in what latitude they are born. These two élégants
embarrassed him.
“How shall I explain?” said the fair man, knitting his brow and
gazing at the skylight. “You speak French? No? My friend the prince
speak French as Italien. I am sorry. But I tell you, monsieur le
docteur, best way I can: you so clever, you understand me with all my
faults. M. le prince here, he marry this lady, who is the daughter of
the Duke de Saldanhés. You know his name, of course? He is great at
the Court of Spain. You must surely hear that the princesse is one of
the most beautiful ladies in all the world; for the papers de Société,
as you call them, tell everyone that. The princesse adore M. le prince;
he adore her. But soon after the noces madame becomes more
delicate, and she likes not to walk or drive; she shows no inclination
for the world; she goes much to the church, and gets pâle, maigre. In
the truth, monsieur le docteur, she shows symptoms of being, what
you call, a sainte.”
The fair man raised his eyebrows, and looked so oddly at Dr. Paull
as he half-whispered the last sentence, that Hugh felt inclined to
laugh.
“I fear I cannot presume to cure a disposition to sanctity, sir,” he
said. His voice sounded rough, in contra-distinction to the suave,
delicately-pitched tones of his interlocutor. “I try to cure nervous
diseases; I cannot cure a tendency which the most exacting husband
can scarcely disapprove.”
“Monsieur is Catholique?” insinuated the fair man, sweetly.
“I—what? I beg your pardon, sir, but you took me by surprise,”
added Hugh, his thin face flushing.
Then he explained that if there were any symptoms of physical
disease he would see the princesse with pleasure, but that he did not
prescribe for the mind.
 The fair man, whose white satin manners and womanish grace
were peculiarly repugnant to Hugh, rapidly translated Dr. Paull’s
speech to the prince in Italian (a language with which Hugh had a
slight acquaintance), and the prince made a voluble reply, which
touched Hugh as being the earnest appeal of a man who was in
considerable anxiety on the subject of his wife.
“I have understood his highness,” he said, somewhat dryly, when
the count (he had been addressed as such by the prince) turned
towards him to interpret; “and I will willingly see the lady and
prescribe for her if it be in my power to do her any good, which I
doubt.”
“Ah! sir; but we do not doubt it,” said the count with enthusiasm.
“Nor did le Docteur Fosterre, who saw her it is two days ago, but
whose medicine the princesse will not accept.”
“Dr. Foster saw her?” asked Hugh, puzzled. (Dr. Foster was a
nerve-doctor with a large fashionable practice, much in favour with
lady patients.) “I fear if Dr. Foster has been unsuccessful, I can do
nothing.”
Further persuasions on the part of the count, who interpreted
everything to his princely friend, led to Hugh’s provisional promise
that after two days he would see the lady. He was to meet Dr. Foster
in consultation on the morrow, and intended to talk with him on the
subject. Then a difficulty was explained to him: the princess objected
to doctors in toto. The meeting must be brought about by stratagem.
The great Dr. B—— S—— had fallen in with this arrangement, and
had had a long interview with the princess one evening at the Italian
Embassy in Paris without her realising that he was one of the
obnoxious faculty until it was over.
“But could he do nothing?” asked Hugh, astonished.
“Monsieur, he said the same as the Docteur Z. in Rome, and your
Docteur Fosterre here in Londres. The princesse has a disease which
is rare in one who has all the world at her charming feet. She likes
not life, she longs for death, or, let us say, the heavens.”
“Which, interpreted, means the lady is a spoilt creature, and is
thoroughly discontented,” thought Hugh, with a smile of
amusement, after his visitors had oppressed him with a profusion of
thanks, had bowed themselves out, and driven off in the carriage. At
first the interview amused him; but after the novelty had worn off, he
felt a distaste for the task he had undertaken, neither an onerous nor
an unpleasant one, the interviewing of a beautiful and evidently
amiable Spanish lady. But Hugh disliked women as patients even
more than he disliked them as companions. His liking for the sex lay
buried in Lilia’s grave.
After his consultation with Dr. Foster next day, he took him aside
and told him of the prince’s visit and request.
“I thought they would come to you,” said Dr. Foster, a short, stout
little man, his eyes twinkling. “Curious fellow, that count, isn’t he? I
can’t make him out. Means well, though, I daresay. A sort of cousin
of the prince’s, I understand. You know all about the family, don’t
you? No? Well, the Andriocchis are one of the most ancient Italian
families. He came into everything a couple of years ago, at his
father’s death. He is only six-and-twenty, though he looks older. I
saw him here the first season. He got into a fast set, and did no good.
Last year his family married him. Families in those countries always
sort the young folks and couple them, you know. Wonderful match—
a great beauty—daughter of one of those awfully blue-blooded
Spanish grandees, Duke de Saldanhés, great favourite at Court. She’s
a charming woman, but——” Dr. Foster shook his head, and looked
whole volumes of wisdom.
“But?” asked Hugh, suddenly interested and sorry. He did not
know why.
“Well, perhaps you’ll find out. She baffled me; that’s all I know.
First I thought there might be a suicidal tendency, or simple
melancholia. Soon gave up that idea—one of the keenest-witted
women I ever met. She gives you one look out of those lamps of eyes
of hers, and tots you up pretty correctly, I can tell you. No, no! She’s
as sane as you or I—saner perhaps, if the truth were known! But
there’s something wrong somewhere. Whether it’s fretting, or
remorse—well, it’s no use speculating. My opinion is this—she’s
wretchedly ill; and before she can get any better, the cause of it must
be got at, and treated. Perhaps you’ll do it. B—— S—— seems to have
failed, and I confess myself nowhere.”
Dr. Paull felt less distaste for his task after this interview with his
colleague: in fact, his professional interest was awakened; and when
three, then four days passed without his being summoned by the
prince, his surprise was flavoured with something akin to a feeling of
disappointment.
On the fifth day, when he was snatching a hasty breakfast, the
prince’s brougham drove up to the door, and the count alighted
alone, and sent in a message—might he see the doctor for one
minute?
“Show him in here,” said Hugh.
Accordingly the count entered, apologising for his intrusion.
“It was necessaire that I find you early, docteur,” he said. “An
opportunity comes that you see madame la princesse to-night. She
has consented to visit the Covent Theatre, to see the new opera.”
“But, excuse me, I do not understand,” said Dr. Paull, somewhat
dryly. “I do not go to theatres and operas. I have no time, still less
should I go there to see patients.”
The count explained, almost pathetically, that the prince had
naturally feared that this was the case. “And, in anticipation of your
refusal, monsieur, I just paid visit to the Lady Forwood, to ask her to
join in our appeal.”
He drew a note from his breast-pocket. It was from Lady Forwood,
the wife of the popular baronet, Sir David Forwood, who had been
Hugh’s friend for many years. Lady Forwood was the only woman,
with the exception of his sisters, with whom Dr. Paull was at all
familiar. She was not only a good woman, but was possessed of the
feminine gift of tact in a marked degree.
“My dear Doctor” (she wrote),—“I am quite thankful to hear you have consented
to see my old friend Mercedes. As I know you always like to have a good look at
your patients, I venture to propose that you should spare us half-an-hour, and
come to our box at Covent Garden to-night. It is exactly opposite the Prince
Andriocchi’s, and you will be able to judge of my poor friend all the better, because
she will not know you are looking at her. Afterwards, we can introduce you to her.
“Yours most truly,
“Margaret Forwood.

“P. S.—The number of our box is 9. I will leave word at the door that you are
coming.”
Hugh wavered; but before he knew that he had consented to the
fair letter-writer’s proposition, the count had left him, and he could
hardly withdraw his half-reluctant consent.
 “I suppose I must go,” he told himself.
He disliked the proceeding altogether. The sense that he was doing
that which he reprehended in others, acting for the great of this
world in a manner he would certainly not act for the lowly, oppressed
him throughout the day.
“It is a step in the wrong direction,” he told himself, as he stood
before the glass, arranging that conventional white tie which he
professed to disdain, with “the rest of men’s enforced toggery,” as he
called the swallowtails and chimneypots, “but I have let myself in for
it somehow, and must go through with it.”
He would not have out his carriage; he took a hansom to the opera
house. On entering, he stood amazed! There had been a drawing-
room that day, and the ladies who were alighting from their carriages
and sailing and sweeping through the entrance-hall and up the
staircase were in all the bravery of silk, satin, and velvet, and literally
ablaze with jewels. The heated air was scented with the perfumes
they used, and with the odour of the Court bouquets they carried.
The scene of excessive luxury was foreign to the severe simplicity of
Dr. Paull’s hard-working life.
“I suppose all this is good for trade,” he thought, as he made his
way through the glittering throng to box 9, “but it seems a queer way
for mortals to spend their time.”
He was ushered into the box just as the final bars of the National
Anthem were being played, for it was a semi-State performance in
honour of a foreign potentate. Lady Forwood, a fair young dame with
a bright face, was standing in front of the box. She turned to welcome
him.
“It is very good, indeed, of you to come,” she said, as she warmly
shook hands. “Don’t say, No! David and I flatter ourselves we
understand you pretty well. I know that nothing but a sense of duty
brings you here. However, now that you are here, you may as well
have a good look at it all. Take that chair. David is at the House. He
may look in, but not till late; there is some important debate on to-
night. Now, tell me, it is a fine sight, isn’t it?”
“It certainly is,” said Hugh.
The orchestra had struck up the spirited introduction to the new
opera, and the unaccustomed sounds of bright music insensibly
raised his spirits. The coup-d’œil of the gigantic horseshoe of tiers of
crimson-curtained boxes filled with ladies in brilliant attire, white
and the palest tints predominating, was magnificent.
“I never imagined women could look so like flowers,” said he,
honestly.
“I thought you would think better of us when you knew a little
more about us!” laughed Lady Forwood, who was scanning the house
through her lorgnettes. “There! Mercedes has just come in! How
lovely she looks! What a magnificent dress! I suppose she was at the
drawing-room. I went last time, so I was not there to-day.”
“Where?” said Hugh, drawing back a little, and feeling like a
conspirator.
“Not in the chandelier! and not exactly in the pit,” said Lady
Forwood, laughingly. “Don’t be shocked at me! I positively can’t help
teasing people. Look at the third from the royal box. There, she is
just settling herself, and throwing off her mantilla—the lady in
white.”
Hugh was looking at the third box to the left of the royalties.
“Take my glass,” said Lady Forwood, “and look at the third box to
the right of the royal people. Make haste, for in another minute she
may settle herself behind the curtain and stay there the whole
evening. It would be just like her.”
Hugh focussed the glass, and with a singular sensation that was
almost a thrill, he gazed at a lovely girl who was leaning forward
glancing round the house. She was pale with a waxen pallor; her
black hair was dressed high, and studded with pearls. She wore a
white velvet gown, a shade whiter than her beautifully moulded bust
and arms, and this appeared to be sewn with pearls. So youthful was
her slender form that, had Hugh not recognized the Prince
Andriocchi and his friend the count hovering in the background, he
would hardly have believed this could be the new patient about
whom so much fuss had been made.
“She is quite a girl!” he said, in surprise, turning to Lady Forwood.
“Why not?” asked she. “She was only married a year ago. Spanish
girls marry young.”
“But, from what you said, I fancied you had been girl friends,” said
Hugh, without thinking.
 “How like you, to say that!” said Lady Forwood, with a good-
natured laugh, as Hugh, forgetting his dislike to the rôle of “spy,”
scrutinised her highness closely through the glasses. “That is almost
on a par with your speech to the Princess M——, one of the stories
she always tells to show what a bear you are, sir!”
“I do not remember saying anything to the Princess M——,” said
Hugh, laying down the lorgnette.
“You don’t remember her playing to you, and your saying that you
had never cared for any playing except that of a relation of yours?”
“No,” said Hugh, who was beginning to think deeply on the subject
of his new “case;” and his thoughts were curious, and to him utterly
unexpected. “But what did I say to you that was bearish just now,
Lady Forwood? I don’t care if her Royal Highness tells anecdotes
about me or not—it amuses her, and doesn’t harm me. But I cannot
be misunderstood by you.”
“That pretty speech makes up for the rude one,” said Lady
Forwood, smiling. “You seemed surprised that Mercedes and I were
girl friends. Of course I am her senior by some years. I will tell you
how it was. Her parents were anxious about her as a child, she was
such a delicate, mopy little thing. So they sent her to a convent
school at the seaside in England. I was what you might call a sixth-
form girl when she came; and, as the nuns thought me steady-going,
they gave her to me to look after specially. I was to be a sort of
deputy-mamma; and she grew very fond of me, poor little thing!”
“Why do you say ‘poor little thing’?” asked Hugh.
“Oh, Mercedes has always been peculiar,” said Lady Forwood.
“The nuns thought her cold and apathetic. I knew very differently!
There is fire underneath that cold manner of hers—she is the most
passionate girl, I think, I ever met! And her parents have been idiots
enough to marry her to that man!”
“You do not approve of the prince?” asked Hugh.
“Hush! We really must not talk any more, people will notice us,”
said Lady Forwood, directing her lorgnettes towards the stage, where
the prima-donna had just finished an air which was evidently greatly
to the taste of the pit and gallery.
Hugh leaned back and during the remainder of the first act
watched the Princess Andriocchi as narrowly as he could without
being specially noticed.
She sat perfectly still at first, leaning back, her white profile
cameo-like against the crimson curtain, her hands lying listlessly in
her lap. She appeared to be watching the stage, but in reality her eyes
were more than half veiled by their heavy lids. Through the glass he
could see that her exquisite little ears were transparent as wax.
“Poor child!” thought Hugh, compassionately. He thought he knew
now why the great B—— S—— and the clever Dr. Foster could neither
of them relieve the little princess of her malaise. The cause was
mental.
He had almost arrived at a resolution to “get out of the affair,” if he
possibly could, when (to his absent mind, with a strange suddenness)
down came the curtain upon the first act among the plaudits of the
house, and people began to move and stand up; there was a general
air of awakening to life of the attentive audience.
“Well,” said Lady Forwood, turning to him, “you must confess it is
a charming opera! The next thing to be done is to take me over to see
Mercedes.”
But this Hugh steadily refused to do.
Lady Forwood was still endeavouring to persuade him by all the
arguments at her command, when the box-door opened, and the
count entered.
He bowed profoundly to Lady Forwood, and offered his hand
deferentially to Hugh, who scrutinised him with a new misgiving.
Was this man who shadowed the young pair in any way connected
with that young creature’s unhappiness? He was, certainly, the sort
of man that some women would consider fascinating, with his
persuasive manners and his fair, handsome face.
He had brought a message to Lady Forwood: the princess wished
to come round to her box—would it be convenient?
Lady Forwood clapped her hands with evident delight.
Hugh had not known her in this childlike, unaffected mood.
“Convenient? Splendid!” she said to the count, who at once
vanished.
“Could anything be better?” she asked Hugh. “You will see her just
as she really is when she is talking to her ‘mammy,’ as she calls me.
What is the matter?” she said, suddenly, in a changed voice, for she
saw her pale friend wince and bite his lip.
“Nothing, I assure you,” he said, earnestly, recovering himself.
That word “mammy” had not been heard by him since Lilia had last
addressed Mrs. Mervyn by the tender nickname in his presence.
What seeming trifles are the feather-weights that balance human
destinies! But for the effect produced upon Hugh by that one word,
he would have made an excuse, and missed——
What? As he stood hesitating, the box-door opened, and the
princess came in.
A girl, with the carriage of a young queen.
Hugh stood back, and stared at the beautiful, dark young creature,
in her magnificent robe of white velvet, embroidered with seed
pearls, with but one feeling—amazement.
The princess gave him a careless glance, with a half-nod, in return
for his obeisance, as Lady Forwood introduced him, and seated
herself by her friend.
She murmured something in a low voice to Lady Forwood, upon
which the English lady blushed and looked annoyed. After some
whispering, Lady Forwood turned to Hugh with a beseeching look.
“I am going to test your friendship to the utmost,” she said,
pleadingly. “I am half afraid to ask you, but you will understand,” she
added, meaningly. “I want you to go down and see if Sir David has
arrived; there is nothing particular to hear for the next ten minutes.”
“With pleasure,” said Hugh, understanding that the little princess
had some secret to tell her friend, and that he was not wanted for the
next quarter-of-an-hour.
“A spoilt beauty,” he thought, as he strolled along the lobbies. “I
should like to know how any physician can cure that, unless he
inoculates her with the smallpox!”
He had hardly left the box before the princess’ manner changed.
She clasped her friend’s hand, and with her lovely face all quivering,
the corners of her lips drooping, and her great eyes full of tears, she
almost sobbed:
“Oh, mammy, mammy! It is true!—it is true!”
 “My dear, what is true? You have been thinking such strange
things!” said Lady Forwood, distressed and worried, for she loved the
unhappy little creature. “You have got some silly notions into your
head, and you imagine all sorts of nonsense.”
“Listen!” said Mercedes, glancing round and speaking low. “To-day
he told me that he and the count would go on the river. I had to go to
the Court alone. Well, I thought I would ask the ambassadress to
take me—it would be not so long—she has the entrée, as you call it.
She did take me. Coming back, my carriage got into a number of
other carriages, and I saw—him.”
“The prince? Well, why not?” asked Lady Forwood.
“I saw him—and her—the woman whose portrait I found!” said
Mercedes, in a tone of anguish.
“Well, my dear,”—Lady Forwood spoke in a matter-of-fact manner,
although she was anathematising the prince for his flagrant conduct
in being publicly seen with the beautiful French actress whose name
had been coupled with his in society gossip—“I daresay he will be
able to explain it all to you, if, indeed, you were not mistaken.”
“How—explain?” asked Mercedes, bitterly. “How explain a lie,
mammy?”
“Hush!” said Lady Forwood, uneasily. “My dear, I never should
have worried David if I had seen him with fifty women!”
“That—is different!” said the princess. “Mammy, you love each
other!”
Lady Forwood began a brisk lecture:
“My child, you are not fit to be out in the world at all,” she said.
“You ought to have come to me for a year’s instruction before you
were married, instead of going straight to the altar from the convent.
You know absolutely nothing about men. Men’s ways are not
women’s ways. The world allows them their liberty; and if their wives
don’t allow it them also, they will neglect their wives for the world,
and the wives will be to blame.”
And she held forth on this somewhat loose doctrine so subtly that
the princess’ expression gradually changed from grieved perplexity
to a sort of placid resignation.
 “A man is not bad who allows a lady acquaintance to take him
some distance in her carriage,” went on Lady Forwood, didactically.
“You will be wiser by-and-by, darling. You will take it for granted
that men are better than they seem.”
“The count is good,” said Mercedes, sorrowfully. “He is so kind to
me!”
“The count is no better than his neighbours,” said Lady Forwood,
sharply, feeling that from Scylla she was nearing Charybdis.
“Mercedes, you must rouse yourself, and go into society. Then you
will not brood on the subject of your husband. You can’t change him,
at least, not all of a sudden, so you must put up with him.”
“The count says——” began Mercedes.
“Don’t talk about the count to me! You know my opinion of
Italians, my dear. You shall be introduced to some Englishmen. You
must know this friend of ours, that you made me turn out of the box
just now. David says he is the best man he ever met.”
At this moment Hugh knocked at the box-door. He had been
outside in the cool night. He had not seen Sir David; he had not
expected to do so. He had watched the arrival of some late comers,
and, unnoticed by them, had seen the Prince Andriocchi and his
friend the count come out of the opera house, light their cigarettes,
and remain in close conversation for a few minutes, after which they
interchanged a glance of intelligence; the prince hailed a hansom and
drove off, and the count reentered the theatre.
So he interpreted the steady gaze which Mercedes fixed upon him
as he told Lady Forwood there was no sign of her husband’s arrival
as a mute questioning as to the whereabouts of the prince, the count
having established himself alone in the opposite box.
And the next occurrence startled him. The curtain was rising; he
was turning to take his seat at the back of the box, when the princess
suddenly leant towards Lady Forwood:
“Mammy, I have seen this—gentleman—before!” she said.
“Where?” she added, turning to Hugh.
He smiled, amused at the startled look in her gazelle eyes.
“You have the advantage of me, princess,” he said. “I do not think I
have had the honour of meeting you before to-night. And yet——”
 He was puzzled. Looking at her steadily, there was something in
the wistful, childish beauty of Mercedes’ oval face which was
familiar. She had some resemblance to someone he had seen
somewhere. But, even as he ransacked his memory, the likeness
eluded him, as a forgotten name will refuse to repeat itself when the
thinker struggles to recall it.
“You two had better talk over your previous acquaintance behind
the curtain, I think,” said Lady Forwood.
Hugh took the hint. He drew his chair nearer to the princess, and
asked her where they possibly could have met, while Lady Forwood
became absorbed in the performance.
“You have been much in England; anyone can tell that who hears
you speak,” he said. “But have you been in London?”
“Never, till now,” said Mercedes, still scrutinising him with a
feeling of uneasiness, for she felt that this worn-looking but
attractive man, with the prematurely white hair, was no stranger to
her, yet she could not recall how or when she had seen him. “I have
lived seven—no, eight years in the convent at B——. That is where
mammy and I were together” (with an affectionate look towards her
friend); “but to London I came—not—once! When I returned to
Spain, we went by Newhaven. This is the first time I see—London.”
“Curious!” said Hugh, half to himself.
The resemblance to someone he had known was stronger while she
was speaking, and yet there was nothing definite about it. It stirred
him strangely; but what the emotion was which disturbed him and
quickened his ordinarily sluggish pulses, he could not tell.
“Were you ever in Surrey?” he suggested, after a few minutes’
fruitless mental searching.
“Never in any place here but the convent,” she said, decidedly.
“But you, sir. Perhaps you were in B—— sometime?”
“Never,” said Hugh.
“Then you have, perhaps, been in my country—in Spain?”
“Not yet,” said Hugh.
They both smiled; and then, suddenly remembering that they were
strangers, talked more reservedly of the music, which the princess
appeared to know well.
 “I had the pianoforte score for a week,” she informed Dr. Paull.
“The composer lent me his manuscript. I played it for him when he
was in Madrid.”
She was telling Hugh of what was to come during the ensuing acts,
when the box-door opened, and the count came in.
“The prince requested me to escort you home at the end of the act,
madame la princesse,” he said in English, bowing very slightly to Dr.
Paull.
“But my husband? Where is he, monsieur?”
The count shrugged his shoulders, with an appealing smile, to
Lady Forwood.
“He must go to the club for an hour, madame. When you arrive at
the house, he will without doubt be there.”
Mercedes sat silent till the close of the act, then she rose abruptly,
held out her hand to Lady Forwood, said “Adieu, monsieur,” with a
melancholy little smile, to Hugh, and left the box on the count’s arm.
“Well?” said Lady Forwood, eagerly, when the two were alone.
“Well?” he repeated, coolly.
Some glamour, under the influence of which he had unbent—had
forgotten his ordinary almost apathy to his surroundings—had
passed away. He was on guard again.
“Tell me frankly what you think of her. I love her so much!” said
Lady Forwood, eagerly and honestly.
“There is nothing the matter with her—physically,” said Hugh.
“But—mentally?”
“As I told her husband, I do not profess to cure the mind.”
“Do you not see how miserable she is, Dr. Paull? We must do
something for her,” said Lady Forwood, energetically. “You can, even
more than I. She wants friends. She wants some powerful mind to
control hers, and lead her to live her own life, without reference to
the prince. That wretched young man! He neglects her shamefully;
and how he can throw her with that count as he does—everyone is
talking about it!”
“My dear Lady Forwood, what can I do?” asked Hugh, helplessly.
Had she spoken to him thus before he had met Mercedes, he would
have thought she was taking leave of her senses. Oddly enough, now,
her appeal did not strike him as in any way peculiar. “I could see her
professionally, and give her a few hints; but I could not talk to her
openly, as you could,” he added, hesitatingly.
“What I want is for her to take an interest in something, Dr. Paull.
I don’t mean an ordinary interest—but something that will occupy
her energies, will distract her from brooding over her wrongs. Oh,
she is wronged, poor child! David thinks very badly of the prince. I
would not believe anything so dreadful of a fellow-creature. Oh, dear
me, here is David!”
A portly, pleasant-looking man, who seemed as if the world suited
him, and he it, came in with a “Hulloa! You don’t look best pleased to
see me, my dear! I don’t wonder. It isn’t often she gets you all to
herself, is it, Paull? Well, we’ve won. Majority of seventeen for our
motion.”
Sir David talked away about the debate just over; and as soon as he
could take leave, Hugh quitted the theatre.
Walking through the streets, under the dark night sky, he seemed
awakening from some vivid dream, in which he had behaved in a
manner in which he would certainly not have behaved when awake.
Letting himself in with his key, he rang for Jones.
“You can go to bed. I shall sit up to do some work,” he said.
“You will find the letters in the library, sir,” said Jones, with extra
gravity.
“Very well,” said Hugh. Then he flung himself into a chair, and
began to think.
“That girl and I have met before,” he mused. “But how?—when?
When I looked into her eyes, I felt she understood me ... and—I
understand her. What on earth induced Lady Forwood to ask me to
look after her?”
He almost laughed. Here, in the big, lonely house, which for years
had been as a hermitage to him, the idea of his being asked to
become mentor to a lovely Spanish princess seemed an absurdity.
“Let me see what Grantley has to say about Spain and the
Spaniards,” he said to himself, going to the book-shelves and taking
down a volume.
 Captain Grantley was a patient of his, who had travelled in Spain,
and recorded his experiences in print. For the next half-hour Hugh
was reading about bullfights, romantic ruins seen by moonlight,
mantillas, dark-eyed beauties, unpleasant railway journeys, and
stuffy hostelries where the diet appeared to be garlic fried in oil.
Nothing seemed to remind him of his princess; but he was still
reading on, when a cab drove up, and there was a ring at the hall bell.
“At this hour!” (It was nearly midnight.) He went into the hall,
unbarred and opened the door:
“Father?” His lanky son stepped joyfully in. “Why, you look
surprised! Surely you got my letter?” he said, after depositing bags
and hampers in the hall.
“Your letter? No,” said Dr. Paull. Somehow, Ralph’s unexpected
arrival was a slight shock to him. “I thought you were not coming
back for a week yet,” he said, after they went into the dining-room.
“We were away more than the fortnight, father,” said the pale lad,
with a smile as sad as his dead young mother’s had been when her
morbid sensitiveness was wounded. “But—you don’t look well! You
have been worried into going to some dinner-party or another” (with
a glance at his father’s evening dress). “I must not go away again!
They will do for you among them!”
“I’m not dead yet, you see,” said Hugh, feeling a new
embarrassment.
Until now there had been a confidence between him and the
delicate lad, who looked at him with his lost Lilia’s eyes, which was
more like the mutual understanding between attached brothers than
that of father with son. For the first time Dr. Paull felt reluctant to
speak of his doings to Ralph.
“But you must want some supper,” he suggested. “I will call up one
of the servants—”
Ralph protested that he was not in the least hungry, and that he
had had some sandwiches at Derby Station, which was literally true,
although on his way from the terminus he had thought pleasantly of
the snug supper with his father, which he fully expected was in store
for him. His reception had effectually satisfied his youthful appetite.
“By the way, Jones said something about letters in the library; just
get them, will you? Perhaps yours may be among them. I have had an
extra-busy day—was interrupted at breakfast—hadn’t time to open
my letters,” said Hugh, uneasily.
Ralph hastened to execute his father’s command, and returned
with a bundle of letters in his hand.
“Here is yours—unopened—as you see,” said Dr. Paull, showing
Ralph his own letter, which he had neglected with the rest of his
morning’s correspondence. “It was a fortunate thing I had not gone
to bed.”
Ralph looked astonished. His father, the acmé of punctiliousness
in business, speaking so carelessly of a whole batch of unopened
letters! What could it mean?
“I have something to show you, father,” he said, gently. The poor
boy thought that the fortnight’s loneliness had wrought this change
in his beloved parent, whom he understood about as much as a
beetle understands an eagle. And he fetched in two small packing-
cases with lightly-fastened lids.
“There,” he said, “are they not beautiful? I made the ivy one
myself.”
He opened the cases and removed some wadding. Dr. Paull stared
with some perplexity at two wreaths—one of ivy, the other of white
lilies. Then he bit his lip—he remembered! For the first time since
Lilia’s death, he had not noted the approach of the anniversary of
that terrible day when his son’s baby-hand had held him back from
the one unforgivable sin—self-murder. On that day it had been his
custom to take Lilia’s son to her grave, and talk to him of his mother:
of what was best in her, that the memory of a mother should be even
more to the boy than the influence of that mother, had she lived.
This time—he had forgotten!
“They are beautiful, Ralph,” he said, placing his hand
affectionately on his boy’s shoulder. “Let us put them in a cool place,
and go to bed. We must be up early to-morrow.”
He had not counted these last days as days of the month. He had
made careless engagements for Tuesdays or Wednesdays, or other
days in the week; and to-morrow he had appointments with
important patients, and a consultation.
“It looks like decadence—strangely like decadence,” he told
himself, bitterly, as, looking in the glass, he noted the deep lines on
his face, the haggard look in his eyes. “I did not remember the
twenty-first; and now I must cancel everything to-morrow—for the
boy’s sake, I must be consistent—I must take him to his mother’s
grave. But—to let everything go to the wall! Well, it must be done.
But this shall be a lesson. No more fooling with princes and
princesses—solid, sensible work.”
A brave determination, Dr. Paull! But, when you made it, did Fate
smile, or shed a tear?