‘I understand I have that honour,’ I replied.
‘The honour is mine,’ said he, and his voice shook as he said it.
‘I should make you welcome, I believe,’ said I.
‘Why?’ he inquired. ‘This poor house has been my home for longer than I care to claim. That you should already take upon yourself the duties of host here is to be at unnecessary pains. Believe me, that part would be more becomingly mine. And, by the way, I must not fail to offer you my little compliment. It is a gratifying surprise to meet you in the dress of a gentleman, and to see’—with a circular look upon the scattered bills—‘that your necessities have already been so liberally relieved.’
I bowed with a smile that was perhaps no less hateful than his own.
‘There are so many necessities in this world,’ said I. ‘Charity has to choose. One gets relieved, and some other, no less indigent, perhaps indebted, must go wanting.’
‘Malice is an engaging trait,’ said he.
‘And envy, I think?’ was my reply.
He must have felt that he was not getting wholly the better of this passage at arms; perhaps even feared that he should lose command of his temper, which he reined in throughout the interview as with a red-hot curb, for he flung away from me at the word, and addressed the lawyer with insulting arrogance.
‘Mr. Romaine,’ he said, ‘since when have you presumed to give orders in this house?’