"It's quite frightful!"—replied Mr. Subtle, in a tone of voice and with a manner which showed how deeply he felt what he uttered. "And it's not only what Mr. Aubrey will lose, but what he will be liable to—the mesne profits—sixty thousand pounds."
"Oh!—you think, then, that we can't go beyond the statute of limitations?—Eh?—is that so clear?" Mr. Subtle looked sharply at Lynx, with an expression it would be difficult to describe. "Well"—continued the impenetrable Lynx—"at all events, I'll look into it." He felt about as much sentiment in the matter as a hog eating acorns would feel interest in the antiquity of the oak from which they fell, and under whose venerable shade he was munching and stuffing himself.
"By the way, Lynx—aren't you with me in Higson and Mellington?"
"Yes—and it stands first for to-morrow morning!"
"I've not opened my papers, and—why, we've a consultation fixed for ten o'clock to-night! What's it all about?"
"It's libel against a newspaper editor—the Pomfret Cockatrice; and our client's a clergyman. They've slandered him most abominably: they say he entered the church as a wholesale dealer in tithes—and as to religion—is an unbeliever and hypocrite!"
"Ay, ay?—that sounds a little like substantial damages!—Do they justify?"[2]
"No—they've pleaded not guilty only."
"Who leads for the defender?"
"Mr. Quicksilver."