"And Mr. Serjeant Stillingfar on circuit," added Mr. Brightman.
He paused and looked at me, as he stood near the door. I was gathering the pens together.
"Have you no friends to dine with, to-morrow—Easter Day?"
"No, sir. At least, I have not been asked anywhere. I think I shall go for a blow up the river."
"A blow up the river!" he repeated doubtfully. "Don't you go to church?"
"Always. I go to the Temple. I meant in the afternoon, sir."
"Well, if you have no friends to dine with, you may come and dine with me," said Mr. Brightman, after a moment's consideration. "Come down when service is over. You will find an omnibus at Charing Cross."
The invitation pleased me. Some of the clerks would have given their ears for it. Of course I mean the gentlemen clerks; not one of whom had ever been so favoured. I had sometimes wondered that he never asked me, considering his intimacy with my uncle. But, I suppose, to have invited me to his house and left out Miss Methold would have been rather too pointed a slight upon her.
It was a fine day. The Temple service was beautiful, as usual; the anthem, "I know that my Redeemer liveth." Afterwards I went forth to keep my engagement, and in due time reached the entrance-gates of Mr. Brightman's residence.
It was a large, handsome villa, enclosed in fine pleasure-grounds, near Clapham. They lived in a good deal of style, kept seven or eight servants and two carriages: a large barouche, and a brougham in which he sometimes came to town. A well-appointed house, full of comfort and luxury. Mr. Brightman was on the lawn when I reached it.