"I suppose he did," said Melmotte, unable to hinder himself from throwing a certain tone of scorn into his voice,—as though proclaiming the fate of his own house and the consequent running away of the rat. "It went off very well, I think."
"Very well," said Miles, still standing at the door. There had been a few words of consultation between him and his father,—only a very few words. "You'd better see it out to-night, as you've had a regular salary, and all that. I shall hook it. I sha'n't go near him to-morrow till I find out how things are going. By G——, I've had about enough of him." But hardly enough of his money,—or it may be presumed that Lord Alfred would have "hooked it" sooner.
"Why don't you come in, and not stand there?" said Melmotte. "There's no Emperor here now for you to be afraid of."
"I'm afraid of nobody," said Miles, walking into the middle of the room.
"Nor am I. What's one man that another man should be afraid of him? We've got to die, and there'll be an end of it, I suppose."
"That's about it," said Miles, hardly following the working of his master's mind.
"I shouldn't care how soon. When a man has worked as I have done, he gets about tired at my age. I suppose I'd better be down at the committee-room about ten to-morrow?"
"That's the best, I should say."
"You'll be there by that time?" Miles Grendall assented slowly, and with imperfect assent. "And tell your father he might as well be there as early as convenient."
"All right," said Miles as he took his departure.