"Now, now, that's exactly what I wish. I'm perfectly satisfied you'll do what's right."
And as he spoke the Bishop's countenance brightened, and he drank slowly, looking up toward the ceiling, that quarter of a glass of claret on which he had gazed for so long in the bottom of the crystal chalice.
Just then the butler once more inclined his head from the back of Sir Jekyl's chair, and presented a card to his master on the little salver at his left side. It bore the inscription, "Mr. Pelter, Camelia Villa," and across this, perpendicularly, after the manner of a joint "acceptance" of the firm, was written--"Pelter and Crowe, Chambers, Lincoln's Inn Fields," in bold black pencilled lines.
"Why did not you tell me that before?" whispered the Baronet, tartly, half rising, with the card in his hand.
"I was not haware, Sir Jekyl. The gentleman, said his name exactly like Pullet."
"In the library? Well--tell him I'm coming," said Sir Jekyl; and his heart sank, he knew not why.
"Beg your pardon, my lord, for a moment--my man of business, all the way from London, and I fancy in a hurry. I shall get rid of him with a word or two--you'll excuse me? Dives, will you oblige me--take my place for a moment, and see that the bottle does not stop; or, Doocey, will you?--Dives is doing duty at the foot."
Doocey had hopes that the consultation with the butler portended a bottle of that wonderful Constantia which he had so approved two days before, and took his temporary seat hopefully.
Sir Jekyl, with a general apology and a smile glided away without fuss, and the talk went on much as before.
When the parlour-door shut behind Sir Jekyl, his face darkened. "I know it's some _stupid_ thing," he thought, as he walked down the gallery with rapid steps, toward the study, the sharp air agitating, as he did so, his snowy necktie and glossy curls.
"How d'ye do, Mr. Pelter?--very happy to see you. I had not a notion it was you--the stupid fellow gave me quite another name. Quite well, I hope?"
"Quite well, Sir Jekyl, I thank you--a--quite well," said the attorney, a stoutish, short, wealthy-looking man, with a massive gold chain, a resolute countenance, and a bullet head, with close-cut greyish hair.
Pelter was, indeed, an able, pushing fellow, without Latin or even English grammar, having risen in the office from a small clerkship, and, perhaps, was more useful than his gentlemanlike partner.