“Then you don’t count me as one of them?”
“Dear Cottrell! Don’t talk that way! After what’s passed between us, I should be an ungrateful fellow if I didn’t esteem you as the first of them—perhaps the only friend I have left.”
“Well, I’ve spoken plainly. Haven’t I said that I know Lord — well enough to give you a letter of introduction to him? I won’t say it will serve any purpose; you must take your chances of that. I can only promise that he will receive you; and if you’re not too particular as to the nature of the employment, I think he may get you something. You understand me, Swinton?”
“I particular! Not likely, Sir Robert, living in this mean room, with the remembrance of that luxurious breakfast I’ve just eaten—myself and my poor wife!”
“Aw—by the way, I owe madam an apology for having so long neglected to ask after her. I hope she is well?”
“Thank you! Well as the dear child can be expected, with such trouble upon us.”
“Shall I not have the pleasure of seeing her?”
The visitor asked the question without any pretence of indifference. He felt it—just then, not desiring to encounter her in such company.
“I shall see, Sir Robert,” replied the husband, rising from his chair, and going toward the bedroom. “I rather suspect Fan’s en dishabille at this hour.”
Sir Robert secretly hoped that she was. Under the circumstances, an interview with her could only be awkward.