“No, no,” said Sir Charles, testily. Then, seeing her beautiful eyes fill at the refusal and the unusual tone, he relented. “You may be in hearing if you like. Open that door, and sit in the little room.”
“Oh, thank you!”
She stepped into the room—a very small sitting-room. She had never been in it before, and while she was examining it, and thinking how she could improve its appearance, Mr. Wheeler was shown into the study. Sir Charles received him standing, to intimate that the interview must be brief. This, and the time he had been kept waiting in the hall, roused Wheeler's bile, and he entered on his subject more bruskly than he had intended.
“Sir Charles Bassett, you wrote a letter to Mr. Hardwicke, reflecting on my client, Mr. Bassett—a most unjustifiable letter.”
“Keep your opinion to yourself, sir. I wrote a letter, calling him what he is.”
“No, sir; that letter is a libel.”
“It is the truth.”
“It is a malicious libel, sir; and we shall punish you for it. I hereby serve you with this copy of a writ. Damages, five thousand pounds.”
A sigh from the next room passed unnoticed by the men, for their voices were now raised in anger.
“And so that is what you came here for. Why did you not go to my solicitor? You must be as great a blackguard as your client, to serve your paltry writs on me in my own house.”