“Clients come, more or less,” he said. “I am not quite so briefless as I was. I think I may say I am getting on, and my devotion to my work is boundless. I know how much depends upon it.”
He gave Gussy a look as he said this, which caused two blushes instead of one, for the color came crimson to Janet’s face as she stooped over her work, as well as in a soft rose to Gussy’s colorless cheeks.
“Ah! it’s more music, I fear, than law,” said Mrs. Harwood, again shaking her head.
“Well, both are best,” said the young man, looking at Gussy again. “Music gets me on in one way, law in the other. I have to consider what is needed all round.”
“You can always make out a good case for yourself, Charley.”
“I hope so, Mrs. Harwood; and for my clients, too.”
Gussy was silenced by these allusions, which were so very plain. Her eyes seemed to swim in a soft and liquid brightness. Her face had the rose-tint which makes up for all deficiencies in character and color. This evening, which had begun in resigned dulness, was it to end more brightly than any other? She was silent in the flood of silent happiness that filled her heart. And Janet sat by, the little conspirator, who was behind the scenes and knew the difference! Oh, how wicked, how angry, how helpless she felt! It was not fun at all, but treachery, a falsehood that made her ashamed to the very bottom of her heart; unless this, indeed, was the truth, and Janet the little dupe whom he was making a fool of, which would be better than the other, yet even more exasperating. She kept her eyes fixed upon her work, and her needle flew, and her cheeks burned. Never, never, never, thought Janet, would she speak to Mr. Meredith again.
There was at least half-an-hour spent in conversation, and then the visitor unrolled his new song.
“I wish you would try this,” he said; “our concert is coming on, and we must settle what we are going to do.”
“Gussy is to sing in the quartets,” said Mrs. Harwood.