“No doubt, no doubt,” said Learmont; “Yours is an onerous position. ’Tis well criminality is not contagious, for otherwise, coming in contact with so many troublesome thieves, and disagreeable characters, London would lose her fine-spirited, upright, and noble magistrate.”
“You are right,” said Hartleton, determined not to take offence, “I can even speak to worse than thieves, and yet, thank Heaven, escape contamination from them.”
Sir Francis Hartleton’s words were barbed, but Learmont was quite as resolved as his opponent not to understand any insinuations, and he merely replied,—
“You are a judge of human nature, sir.”
“As far as my opportunities go, I am,” replied Sir Francis.
“I trust,” added Learmont, “that, notwithstanding I am but a poor squire, you will do me the honour of visiting me in my London abode.”
“That I am willing to do,” said Hartleton, “forgetting all disagreements, Squire Learmont of course.”
“Disagreements, sir,—I really am not aware of any. You were at one time, if I remember rightly, subject to bad dreams, from which I hope you have now quite recovered—I should think it a most grievous and affecting malady.”
Sir Francis felt that Learmont had rather the better of him in the dialogue, and with a smile he bowed and passed on.
The squire looked after him with a smile of bitterness mingled with contempt.