Jack Byrne turned uneasily in his chair; it was evident that his sentiments were not in accord with those of his friend. After a minute's pause he said, "Even supposing that the old eye-for-eye and tooth-for-tooth retribution were allowable--which I am by no means disposed to grant, especially where women are concerned--are you quite sure that in adopting it you are getting at what you wish to attain? You have never said so, but it must be as obvious to you as it is to me that Mrs. Creswell does not care for her husband. Do you think, then, she will be particularly influenced by a matter in which his personal vanity is alone involved?"
Joyce smiled somewhat grimly. "My dear old friend, it was Mrs. Creswell's ambition that dealt me what might have been my coup de grâce.My anxiety about this contest at grimly springs from my desire to wound Mrs. Creswell's ambition. My knowledge of that lady is sufficient to prove to me, as clearly as though I were in her most sacred confidence, that she is most desirous that her husband should be returned to Parliament. The few words that were dropped by that idiot Bokenham the other day pointed to this, but I should have been sure of it if I had not heard them. After all, it is the natural result, and what might have been expected. During her poverty her prayer was for money. Money acquired, another want takes its place, and so it will be to the end of the chapter."
As Joyce ceased speaking there was a knock at the door, and Jack Byrne opening it, admitted young Mr. Harrington, the confidential clerk of Messrs. Potter and Fyfe. Young Mr. Harrington was festively attired in a garb of sporting cut, and wore his curved-rimmed hat on the top of his right ear; but there was an unusual, anxious look in his face, and he showed signs of great mental perturbation, not having, as he afterwards allowed to his intimate friends, "been so thoroughly knocked out of time since Magsman went a mucker for the Two Thou'." This perturbation was at once noticed by Mr. Byrne.
"Ah, Mr. Harrington," said he; "glad to see you, sir. Not looking quite so fresh as usual," he added, with a cynical grin. "What's the matter--nothing wrong in the great turf world, I trust? Sister to Saucebox has not turned out a roarer, or Billy Billingsgate broken down badly?"
"Thank you very much for your kind inquiries, Mr. Byrne," said Mr. Harrington, eyeing the old man steadily, without changing a muscle of his face. "I'll not forget to score up one to you, sir, and I'll take care to repay you that little funniment on the first convenient opportunity. Just now I've got something else in hand. Look here, let's stow this gaff! Mr. Joyce, my business is with you. The fact is, there is an awful smash-up at Brocksopp, and my governors want to see you at once."
"At Brocksopp?" said Joyce, with a start. "A smash at Brocksopp?"
"Yes," said Mr. Harrington. "The man that we were all depending on, young Mr. Bokenham, has come to grief."
"Dead?" exclaimed old Byrne.
"Oh no, not at all; political rather than social grief, I should have said. The fact is, so far as we can make out, Lord and Lady Steppe--you know Lady Steppe, Mr. Joyce, or, at all events, your friend Shimmer of the Comet could tell you all about her: she was Miss Tentose in the ballet at the Lane--have persuaded our sucking senator to go to Egypt with them for the winter. Lady S.'s influence is great in that quarter, I understand--so great that he pitches up Brocksopp, and let's us all slide!"
"Given up Brocksopp?" said old Byrne.