"But what about the feelings of the man who is so soon to be turned out of the house?"
Hugh Ritson's fingers were on the keys. He paused and faced about.
"I had no conception that you had such a delicate sense of humor, Bonnithorne," he said, with only the shadow of a smile. "Feelings! His feelings!"
There was a swift glide up the notes, and other sounds were lost. The window was half open; the lawyer walked to it and looked out. At that moment the two men were back to back. Hugh Ritson's head was bent over the keyboard. Mr. Bonnithorne's eyes were on the tranquil landscape lying in the sun outside. The faces of both wore curious smiles.
Hugh Ritson leaped from his seat.
"Ah, I feel like another man already," he said, and took a step or two up and down the room, his infirm foot betraying no infirmity. There was the noise of fresh arrivals in the hall. A minute later a servant entered, followed by three gentlemen, who shook hands effusively with Hugh Ritson.
"Delighted to be of service, I'm sure," said one.
"Glad the unhappy connection is to be concluded—it was a scandal," said the other.
"You could not go on living on such terms—life wasn't worth it, you know," said the first.
The third gentleman was more restrained, but Hugh paid him marked deference. They had a short, muttered conference apart.