Stephen was in the library, and Slummers noiselessly ushered in the lawyer. It happened to be what Stephen would have called one of his bad mornings. He was seated at the table, not at work, but looking at the pile of papers with lack-luster eyes, that saw nothing, and pale, drawn face.
Hudsley had seen him like this before, but his keen eyes looked like steel blades.
Stephen started and put his thin, white hand across his brow.
“Good morning,” he said. “Good morning. Any news? Sit down.”
But Hudsley remained standing.
“I have no news,” he said. “I think I may say that there are no more surprises for us. You know the extent of the fortune which you hold!”
He did not say “which is yours,” or “which your uncle left you.” Simply “which you hold.” On Stephen’s strained mind the phrase jarred. He nodded and kept his eyes downcast.
“The business that lies within my province,” continued Mr. Hudsley, “is completed. What remains is the work of an accountant. My task is done.”
“I am sure,” said Stephen, smoothly, “that you do not need any assurance of my gratitude——”
The old man waved his wrinkled hand.