Mr Bickers took no notice of this hospitable invitation, but closed the door behind him and said, “I want a few words with you, Mr Railsford.”
“Certainly? I’ve nothing to do— Won’t you take a seat?”
Mr Bickers took a seat, a little disconcerted by Railsford’s determined good-humour. He had not counted upon that.
“The last time I saw you you were hardly so polite,” said he, with a sneer.
“When was that? I’m very sorry if I was rude; I had no intention, I assure you.”
Railsford began to feel a little like the lamb in the fable. This wolf had evidently come bent on a quarrel, and Railsford, lamb and all as he was, would have liked to oblige him. But he was quick enough to see—with the memory of more than one failure to warn him—that his only chance with Mr Bickers was, at all costs, not to quarrel.
“You are fortunate in your short memory; it is a most convenient gift.”
“It’s one, at any rate, I would like to cultivate with regard to any unpleasantness there may have been between you and me, Bickers,” said Railsford.
This was not a happy speech, and Mr Bickers accepted it with a laugh.
“Quite so; I can understand that. It happens, however, that I have come to assist in prolonging your memory with regard to that unpleasantness. I’m sorry to interfere with your good intentions, but it cannot be helped this time.”