“I will tell my master you are here.”
“No, no, don’t hurry him. A party of five, eh? To celebrate his birthday and his latest success at the Bar? He is going to be a remarkable man.”
“I was just remembering what you said, sir, when you came in.”
Image smiled, and taking off his glasses, carefully polished them. “Ah! he was so sturdy and he shut his little mouth so firmly—a great deal in the set of the mouth even at the early age, Richards—and he knew what he wanted so decidedly that I felt there was a career before him. He commenced to orate loudly in church, and I understand the same oration—more intelligible and persuasive—won this much talked-of Driver case. Don’t hurry him on my account. I have not yet become accustomed to the taxi-cabs. Distances by rickshaws and distances by four-wheelers I know, but taxi-cabs—I find myself hurrying along like the witch on her broomstick.”
Richards quietly withdrew, and Image surveyed the rooms through his glasses, which made his near-sighted brown eyes so extraordinarily brilliant and piercing. He nodded in old acquaintanceship to several pieces of furniture and a few pictures, for Gilbert’s mother had robbed Wynnstay Manor for her son’s furnishing. On either side of the fireplace were two new portraits which had been painted since Image had been away. One represented a woman, with delicate colouring and well-chiselled features. The calm blue eyes were shallow as pools of water in the sun, and there were no full curves to the lips or any indication of deep emotion or temperament. A well-preserved woman—Gilbert’s mother. On the other side was a companion picture, Sir John Currey, Bart., M.P. No weakness there, rather a dominating nature, an iron will, a certain ruthlessness in the lines of the heavy jaw, a certain coldness in the direct glancing eyes.
“A capital portrait, my old friend,” apostrophized Image. “I wonder if Gilbert will——”
“Now, Carey, talking to the devil?” broke in a voice on his meditations, a full, very masculine voice, that filled the room. It made Image’s voice seem effeminate and thin. “My old nurse used to say when she found me muttering to myself that I was telling the devil too much of my mind.”
“My dear fellow, how glad I am to see you again. It’s a silly habit of mine. I and myself, we often talk to one another.... Let’s have a good look at you.... A bit heavier——”
“Yes,” said Gilbert laughing ruefully, “I am putting on flesh. Don’t get enough exercise. You haven’t changed, Carey.”
“Ah! I have definitely come to the shrivelled stage. I was looking at your father’s portrait. Capital! When you laugh you are not so like, but your face in repose—very like. I am glad to hear of your success, my boy. Johnson Marks was in court yesterday, and he told me your speech was truly remarkable for a young man, and you know how many young barristers he has heard. You must have been very pleased at the successful issue of the trial.”