"It won't hurt me to see him."
"No, sir; it won't hurt you. It would be a pity indeed if the likes of him could hurt the likes of you." And so Mr. Quintus Slide was shown up into the room.
The first greeting was very affectionate, at any rate on the part of the editor. He grasped the young member's hand, congratulated him on his seat, and began his work as though he had never been all but kicked out of that very same room by its present occupant. "Now you want to know what I'm come about; don't you?"
"No doubt I shall hear in good time, Mr. Slide."
"It's an important matter;—and so you'll say when you do hear. And it's one in which I don't know whether you'll be able to see your way quite clear."
"I'll do my best, if it concerns me."
"It does." So saying, Mr. Slide, who had seated himself in an arm-chair by the fireside opposite to Phineas, crossed his legs, folded his arms on his breast, put his head a little on one side, and sat for a few moments in silence, with his eyes fixed on his companion's face. "It does concern you, or I shouldn't be here. Do you know Mr. Kennedy,—the Right Honourable Robert Kennedy, of Loughlinter, in Scotland?"
"I do know Mr. Kennedy."
"And do you know Lady Laura Kennedy, his wife?"
"Certainly I do."