As he passed the door on which appeared the name of Mr. Willis Joyner—the back room on the first floor—the dapper figure and pleasant face of that gentleman appeared on the threshold. In spite of his age and his gray whiskers, Mr. Willis Joyner was preferred by many moneyed spinsters and richly jointured widows even before the grave, handsome Mr. Amberley, who never paid any compliments, and apparently regarded business as business, and never sweetened the sourness and dryness of the law with the acceptable honey of soft words and smiling glances.
“Ah! thought ’twas you, Amberley,” said Mr. Willis. “Thought I knew your step. Want to see you when you’ve looked over your letters.”
“All right,” was Mr. Amberley’s very simple rejoinder, as he pursued his upward course.
In ten minutes or a quarter of an hour he came back.
Mr. Willis Joyner wanted to see him about “that affair of Frampton’s,” Frampton being a wealthy commoner who was going to marry a rich baron’s sister, and the “affair” being one of very complicated marriage-settlements.
Some lively talk from the said Mr. Willis Joyner of the one part, and some quiet listening from the said Mr. Frank Amberley of the other part, resulted in the agreement that the younger gentleman should repair at once to Brompton, to have an interview with somebody concerned on some knotty and disputed point.
Frank Amberley went off. About half an hour after his departure, a youth came into the office with a telegram marked “Immediate.”
“Is there any answer wanted, do you know?” inquired the melancholy clerk to whom he delivered it.
“No, I don’t. I’d better wait and see,” answered the messenger.
“Mr. Amberley ain’t in. I’ll ask Mr. Willis,” said the clerk.