“About this time the ambitious Nashon will be receiving my summons of adjudication,” said Græme.
“A much more suitable gift, from his superior, than Dione Græme,” said Madam.
“What is this, sir?” said Græme to the messenger, who had just opened the door of the apartment.
“A requisition, your honour,” replied the messenger.
“From whom?” said Græme “Nashon Heatherton,” replied the messenger.
“A requisition for delay, I fancy,” said Græme. “Ha ha! ha! He is too late. The law must take its course Go tell him I cannot comply with it.”
“Would not your honour better read it?” said the messenger.
“Oh, the usual cant, I presume,” said Græme, opening the paper and glancing over it. “What is this?” he added, letting go the paper, and falling back on his chair.
“What is the matter?” cried Madam, taking up the document, and flying for a smelling-bottle at the same time.
“It is, Madam,” said the messenger, while she applied the salts to her husband’s nose, “a requisition for payment of £5000, due to Mr Heatherton, as assignee of Mr Langbane.”