The unfortunate man first flushed, then turned pale. "And what has this to do with it?" he asked rather angrily.
The lawyer raised his hand: "Calmly, calmly. These matters should be looked in the face, sir—looked in the face. I only speak in your own interest: that little balance at the bank—very little indeed, I think—is all you have to look to if you wish to set up again. I (remember, sir, I too have a wife and children) must be firm in this matter. A bill of sale on this furniture of yours—or of your wife's, if you will—can be given to me as security; I will then release your account and set you on your feet again. What do you say?"
"If it must be, it must be," replied the man with something between a groan and a sneer.
Mrs. Grey's name, or that unfortunate mortgage of the interest on which not a penny had been seen for the last year, was not, as it will be noticed, mentioned between them. One allusion only was made to it.
"We'll allow you to make a start," said Mr. Robinson benevolently, "and after that it will be time enough to look into those other little matters that are between us still."
"Those other little matters!" The bare mention of them made the unfortunate wince, especially when the reference was made to the accompaniment of Mr. Robinson's hard smile and cold, blue-steel gaze; but he hoped on, as men in his position will hope, for a stroke of luck, a good speculation, something to raise his status in the monetary world.
He drew on his gloves hurriedly: "Yes, yes, my good friend, as you so kindly say, time enough; I must feel my legs before I disburse, and to pay up at present would be out-and-out ruin. In the mean time you may rely upon me. My affairs are in your hands."
So Mr. Robinson felt, and he rubbed his hands pleasantly. The consciousness of power was always agreeable to him. "I hope so, I hope so," he replied briskly. "Let me assure you, sir, that I shall watch you narrowly. In my client's interests you know it is incumbent on me to be firm."
"But in your own firmer," muttered the man between his teeth as he went down stairs. "What precious humbugs these lawyers are! If I were only out of this one's hands!" He clenched his fist and his brows contracted. That "bill of sale" was rankling in his mind, but moaning could not mend matters, and he was by no means the only one whom Mr. Robinson held that day, writhing but submissive, under his cunning hand.
He smiled when the door closed behind his client. This man's tastefully-decorated house had often awakened in the lawyer's mind not envy, malice, guile and all uncharitableness, for Mr. Robinson was a consistent man, but a certain keen admiration that perhaps, looking at it in the light of the sequel, might have passed very well for their counterfeit.