“Pray, my lord, come to the point,” exclaimed Heathcote, impatiently. “I have a vast amount of work upon my hands—several appointments to keep—and my toilette not yet performed.”
“In one word, sir,” said Trevelyan, “may I inquire if you have received any tidings concerning your brother, who is a dear and valued friend of mine?”
“I have heard that my brother is absent, my lord,” answered Heathcote, coldly: “but I have no control over his movements—and he is not in the habit of consulting me respecting his actions.”
“At the same time, sir——”
“Pardon me, my lord: I have answered you—and I have not a moment to spare.”
“But as your brother’s friend, sir—his intimate friend——”
“I do not know you, my lord: neither do I trouble myself with my brother’s friendships.”
These last words were uttered so rudely—almost brutally, that the young nobleman’s countenance became the colour of scarlet, and he felt that were the lawyer a man less advanced in years, he would have knocked him down for his insolence.
“I am aware, sir,” he said, subduing his indignation as well as he was able, “that I have no claim upon your courtesy, beyond that which social conventions establish: but I regret to find that you should think it necessary to treat with such extreme incivility a person who has never offended you.”
“Then wherefore does your lordship force yourself into my presence, and persist in remaining here, when I tell you that I am occupied with serious matters?” demanded the lawyer, rising from his seat, while his brows were bent in such a way as to render his countenance particularly displeasing and sinister at that moment.