"A vain young dandy," thought George, as he sat down, regarding the ring, and the curled hair, and the unexceptionable white linen. The gentleman was, in fact, a distant relative of Squire Dobie's, holding himself to be far above all the fraternity of men of the law, and deeming it an extremely hard case that his friends should have put him into it.
The silence broken only by the scratching of the pen, was interrupted by the sudden stopping before the house of a horse and gig. An active little gentleman of middle-age leaped out, came in, and opened the door of the room.
"Where's Mr. Knivett, Dobie? At his dinner?"
"Yes."
Away went the little gentleman somewhere further on in the house. Almost immediately he was back again, and Mr. Knivett with him. The latter opened the door.
"I am going out, Mr. Dobie. Don't know how long I may be detained. Old Mr. Seaton's taken ill." And, with that, he followed the little gentleman out, mounted the gig with him, and was gone.
It had all passed so quickly that George North had not space to get in a word. He supposed his chance of seeing the lawyer for that day was at an end.
Scarcely had the gig driven off, and Mr. Dobie brought back his head from gazing after it over the window blind, when there entered a gentleman in deep mourning: a good-looking man with a somewhat sad countenance. Mr. Dobie got off his stool with alacrity, and came forward.
"How are you, Sir William?"
Sir William Blake-Gordon--for it was he--returned the greeting: the two young men met occasionally in society.