“Yes, sir. And that business of ours. That settlement.”
“Yes, yes,” he said, with lips quivering, “it shall all be done. But don’t talk about it now, not before Hetty here.”
“I think Hetty, Mr Blakeford, will help the settlement most easily for us both, will you not, dear?” I said, and I drew her to my side. “There, Mr Blakeford,” I said, holding out my hand once more, “are we to be good friends?”
He tried to answer me, but no words came, and he sank back, quivering with nervous trepidation in his chair.
He was better, though, in a few minutes, and when I left him he clung to my hand, his last words being:
“I will make all right, I will give you no trouble now.”
Tom Girtley laughed at me when I rejoined him and told him where I had been.
“This is a pretty way of doing business!” he exclaimed. “You play fast and loose with your solicitor, and end by coming down and compromising the case with the defendant. Really, Mr Grace, this is most reprehensible, and I shall wash my hands of the whole affair.”
“Glad of it,” said I, laughing. “A solicitor should always have clean hands.”
We chatted on merrily as we walked, for we had started to go as far as my old home, where, as I pointed out to him the scene of many a happy hour, a feeling of sadness more painful than I had experienced for years seemed to oppress me, and it was not until I had once more left the old home far behind that I was able to shake it off.