‘Till tonight,’ replied Gideon, smiling. ‘I suppose I may knock you up at a late hour?’
‘Any hour, any hour,’ cried the vanishing solicitor.
‘Now there’s a young fellow with a head upon his shoulders,’ he said to Pitman, as soon as they were in the street.
Pitman was indistinctly heard to murmur, ‘Perfect fool.’
‘Not a bit of him,’ returned Michael. ‘He knows who’s the best solicitor in London, and it’s not every man can say the same. But, I say, didn’t I pitch it in hot?’
Pitman returned no answer.
‘Hullo!’ said the lawyer, pausing, ‘what’s wrong with the long-suffering Pitman?’
‘You had no right to speak of me as you did,’ the artist broke out; ‘your language was perfectly unjustifiable; you have wounded me deeply.’
‘I never said a word about you,’ replied Michael. ‘I spoke of Ezra Thomas; and do please remember that there’s no such party.’
‘It’s just as hard to bear,’ said the artist.