The door scarcely closed upon her, when it opened to admit Draper.
“Your humble servant, sir,” says the attorney. His voice jarred upon Harry's ear, and his presence offended the young man.
“I had expected you some hours ago, sir,” he curtly said.
“A lawyer's time is not always his own, sir,” said Mr. Draper, who had just been in consultation with a bottle of port at the Grecian. “Never mind, I'm at your orders now. Presume it's all right, Mr. Warrington. Packed your trunk? Why, now there you are in your bedgown still. Let me go down and settle whilst you call in your black man and titivate a bit. I've a coach at the door, and we'll be off and dine with the old lady.”
“Are you going to dine with the Baroness de Bernstein, pray?”
“Not me—no such honour. Had my dinner already. It's you are a-going to dine with your aunt, I suppose?”
“Mr. Draper, you suppose a great deal more than you know,” says Mr. Warrington, looking very fierce and tall, as he folds his brocade dressing-gown round him.
“Great goodness, sir, what do you mean?” asks Draper.
“I mean, sir, that I have considered, and, that having given my word to a faithful and honourable lady, it does not become me to withdraw it.”
“Confound it, sir!” shrieks the lawyer, “I tell you she has lost the paper. There's nothing to bind you—nothing. Why she's old enough to be——”