He knew he had about squeezed the orange dry, but he knew a considerable amount of juice had been lost—through "no fault of his own,"—and he consequently set his wits to work to see how that spilled liquor could be replaced.
It was not long before inspiration came to him, and when it did he summoned another meeting of the committee.
At that meeting he gravely proposed that Mortomley should be invited to bid for the remaining book debts, the books, and his discharge. The question was discussed gravely—and as gravely agreed to—though three, at all events, of the committee intended Mortomley never should have his discharge; and accordingly the same evening Mr. Swanland, who really could not dictate to a shorthand-writer, did something which passed muster for dictation, so that eventually Mortomley received a letter asking him to make an offer for the purchase of all the good things duly mentioned.
Now considering that Mortomley had been stripped as clean of all worldly belongings as the Biblical traveller who fell among thieves; considering a man in process of liquidation is in the same state as regards the inability to make personal contracts as a bankrupt; considering Dolly had not a halfpenny left of her fortune, and that friends possessed of great wealth are not in the habit of rushing forward at such times as these with frantic entreaties for their purses to be made use of,—there was a humour about this letter which might have excited the risible muscles of a looker-on.
But there was no looker-on—there were only the players; there were only Dolly and Mr. Swanland in fact, and arrayed in her grey silk skirt, in her black velvet puffings, in her great plaits of hair, in her atom of a bonnet, in light gloves, in the smallest of jackets, and the largest of what then did service for pouffs, Dolly went to have her quarrel out with the trustee.
In which laudable design she was frustrated. Mr. Swanland chanced to be at home laid up with bronchitis, so Dolly saw instead Mr. Asherill, and expressed to him her opinion about the demerits of the firm.
She was not at all reticent in what she said, and Mr. Asherill, spite of his hypocritical manners and suave address, got the worst of it.
He tried quoting Scripture, but Dolly outdid him there. He tried platitudes, but Dolly ridiculed both them and him. He tried conciliation, and she defied him.
"That is a dreadful woman," thought Mr. Asherill, when she finally sailed out of the office, leaving a general impression of silk, velvet, flowers, lace, feathers, and eau-de-cologne behind her. "I'll never see her again."