“He shall be taken to the stables, poor fellow,” said Gertrude, rising. “Mrs Hampton, shall we go to the drawing-room?”
“To be sure, my dear. And Hampton, don’t stop long.”
“No, my love,” said the old man gallantly, holding open the door; “and when I come up I hope we are to have some music.”
This was promised, and the lawyer returned to his seat, filled his glass, held it up brow high, looked full at the portrait of his old client, and nodded gravely.
“Your health, Harrington, old friend,” he said; and he half emptied his glass, and set it down.
“Absurd thing to wish a dead man health,” he continued, as he gazed full at the portrait. “Ought to have said welfare. Hallo! What’s that?”
He turned his face to the door, and sat listening to a faint whining, and the pattering of claw-armed feet on the floor.
“Humph! Poor brute, getting him to the stables, I suppose. Better there.”
Then, as silence once more reigned in the place, he sat back, and gazed up at the portrait.
“You meant well, old friend,” he said, “but you understood the care of money better than the workings of human nature. James Harrington, you understood laying down good wine, too; but, between ourselves, you made as bad a will as ever I helped to draw up.”