"Quite true—quite true," chirped Jimmy from the far corner of the room.
Mr. Ricaby shrugged his shoulders.
"No wonder they call you the silver-lipped orator," he muttered contemptuously.
There was a knock at the door, and Mr. Ricaby went forward to see who it was. Speaking to someone in the hall outside, he said:
"My clerk? Oh, yes, ask him to come up. No—I'll go down." Turning to the others, he asked:
"Will you excuse me for a moment?"
"Certainly," said Mr. Cooley, "and, while I think of it, do your best to persuade Miss Paula that we are really acting for her best interests. She is alone in the world. Her uncle will take her into his own family, welcome her as his own child."
Mr. Ricaby, with an impatient shrug of his shoulders, went out without waiting to listen to any more. Mr. Cooley, who had not noticed the attorney's departure, went on:
"Can't you see the picture, Ricaby? Uncle—niece—bosom of family—happy home—cousins—smiling faces—all radiant with newly found happiness?"
Suddenly he noticed that Ricaby was no longer there. Turning to Jimmy, he exclaimed, in a changed tone of voice: