"Oh! Ha! Do I? Very happy. What is it?" said Forsythe, smiling briskly, glancing at his watch and edging towards the door, all together.
"I mean the confident view—the cheerful—about it," said the Hon. Mr. Verney, a little flushed, and laying his thin hand on his counsel's arm.
"Certainly—confident, of course, smooth sailing, quite. I see no hitch at present."
Mr. Forsythe was now, more decidedly, going. But he could not treat the Hon. Kiffyn Verney quite like an ordinary client, for he was before him occasionally in Committees of the House of Commons, and was likely soon to be so in others of the Lords, and therefore, chafing and smiling, he hesitated under the light pressure of the old gentleman's stiff fingers.
"And you know the, I may say, absurd state of the law, about it—there was, you know, my unfortunate brother, Arthur—you are aware—civiliter mortuus, stopping the way, you know, for nearly twenty years, about it, ever since my poor father, Lord Verney, you know, expired, about it, and I've been, as you know, in the most painful position—absurd, you know."
"Quite so; I'm afraid—" Forsythe was again edging toward the door.
"And I always contended that where the heir was civilly dead, about it, the law should make proper provision—don't you see?"
"Quite so, only fair—a very wise and politic statute—and I wish very much, with your experience, you'd turn your attention to draw one. I'm obliged to be off now, to meet the New Discount directors; consultation at my chambers."
And so, smiling, Forsythe, Q.C., did vanish, at last.
All this over, Mr. Cleve Verney proposed to himself a little excursion, of a day or two, to Paris, to which his uncle saw no objection.