"But he won't be to-day--I know it." And she showed great anxiety. "You say he has made all arrangements for his voyage?"

"Yes. He tells me he sails on Thursday. And he goes to London to-night."

"I wonder if he truly means it."

"Of course he means it."

"I suppose he does. The things he packed at our house went straight to Liverpool. But--even now--he may change his mind."

"How can he?... Hush!"

There was a heavy footstep in the pa.s.sage. The clerk opened the door, and announced Mr. Marsden.

"Am I late?"

"No, you are in excellent time," said Prentice; and, looking at him, he endeavoured not to manifest the thoughts aroused by his appearance.

It seemed that Marsden, bracing himself for the day, was trying to maintain a sort of buccaneering joviality. Evidently, too, he had made some attempts to render himself presentable in general company. He had visited the barber, and his bloated face was smooth and glistening after a close shave; a neatly cut piece of plaster covered an eruption on the back of his neck; he wore a clean collar, and the cheap violet satin neck-tie conveyed the idea that it had been chosen by feminine taste.

Probably his travelling companion had a.s.sisted in brushing and cleaning him, and sending him forth as nice as possible.

Yet, in spite of this unusual care, he looked most ruffianly as he lolled in a chair near the open safe, with the bright sunlight full upon him. His eyes were slightly bloodshot; and the gross, overfed frame suggested the characteristics of a beast of prey who for a long time has ceased to undergo the invigorating activities of the chase and been enabled without effort to gorge at will. Now he had come for his last greedy and unearned meal.

Mrs. Marsden, on the other side of the room, lowered her eyes, folded her hands, sat silent and motionless.

Mr. Collins of Hyde & Collins, followed by his own clerk, was the next to arrive. He came bustling into the room, and immediately seemed to take possession of it.

"Good morning. Good morning. Here we are. Put my bag on the table....

Where are you sitting, Prentice.... Over there? All right. Then I'll sit here;" and he took the chair at the end of the table, opposite to Mr.

Prentice. "You sit there, Fielding;" and he waved to his clerk. "Sit down. Don't stand."

Mr. Prentice disliked Collins rather more than he disliked Hyde. To his mind, Collins was everything that a solicitor should not be--impudent, unscrupulous, vulgar; a discredit to the profession. His ragged beard, his snout of a nose, his little ferret-eyes, shifting so rapidly behind steel-rimmed spectacles, were all obnoxious; but what made Mr. Prentice really angry was his irrepressible familiarity, with the odious facetious manner that accompanied it. He said Prentice instead of _Mister_ Prentice; and, refusing to recognize snubs, always pretended that they were on the best of terms with each other.

"Well," asked Marsden, "why don't we begin?"

"No hurry, is there?" said Collins. He was busy with his ugly black bag, getting out the important doc.u.ment, and unfolding some memorandum papers.

"Oh, _I_'m in no particular hurry," said Marsden. "But twelve o'clock was the hour named."

"Is it twelve.... Can you hear Holy Trinity clock from here, Prentice?

We hear it plainly at our place."

Then dapper, smiling Mr. Archibald Bence was announced.

"Come in," said Collins patronisingly. "Here we are, all a.s.sembled. Be seated. Fielding, put a chair for Mr. Bence."

Mr. Archibald looked splendid in the sunlight. He shone all over, from his bald head to his patent leather boots. His black coat was beautifully braided, elegantly padded on the shoulders, tightly pulled in at the waist; his buff waistcoat exactly matched his wash-leather gloves; and with him there entered the room a pleasing fragrance shed by the moss roses in his b.u.t.ton-hole. He bowed gallantly to the only lady present, had an affable word for Prentice and Collins, and nodded rather contemptuously to Marsden.

"Gentlemen," he said blandly, "it is the sort of day on which one is glad to be alive;" and he turned about, with a dandified air, to find a vacant spot for his brand-new topper.

"Take Mr. Bence's hat," said Collins; and his clerk did as he was bid.

Bence, declining a chair, went and leaned against the wall near Mrs.

Marsden, and twirled his moustache.

"What are we waiting for?" asked Marsden.

"Only for one small trifle," said Mr. Collins facetiously. "But I don't suppose you'd dispense with it. Not quite a matter of form."

"What is it?"

"The money--the purchase money, my dear sir."

"What? Haven't you got it with you?"

"Oh, dear me, no," said Mr. Collins. "But it's coming--oh, yes, it's coming."

"I understand that a clerk is bringing it from the bank," said Mr.

Prentice. He found the facetious manner of Mr. Collins utterly insufferable.

Marsden shrugged his shoulders, and crossed his legs. Archibald Bence was looking at him; Collins looked at him; old Prentice looked at him; and all at once he seemed to feel the necessity of a.s.serting himself.

"I never understood the use of appointments unless they are punctually attended. It's waste of time asking people for twelve, if you don't intend to get to work till half an hour later."

Bence moved to the window, and looked out.

"A thousand apologies for keeping you waiting, Mr. Marsden." He spoke over his shoulder. "Ah, here the man comes;" and he pulled out his grand gold watch. "Then I've really only wasted three minutes of your valuable time."

"All right," said Marsden sulkily.

The bank clerk came in, and bowed to the company as he went to Mr.

Collins's side at the table. Then he opened his wallet and brought out the white sheaves of bank-notes.

"Will you go through them, sir?"

"Yes," said Mr. Collins. "Will you kindly check them with me, Prentice?"

"I'll count them after you," said Mr. Prentice. It did not suit his dignity to leave his chair and go round the table to stand at Collins's elbow.

Mr. Collins found the total of the notes correct, pushed them across to Prentice, and signed the bank receipt.

"Then you won't want me any more," said the bank clerk.

"Wait," said Collins pompously, as if the bank, as well as Mr.

Prentice's room, belonged to him. "Stand over there--or sit down, if you please. My clerk will go back with you."

Marsden had risen and approached the table. It was as if the bank-notes had irresistibly drawn him. Perhaps, though in his career he had dissipated so many notes singly or by small batches, he had never yet seen such a good show of them, all together, at one time. And such n.o.ble denominations!

"Twice three thousand," said Prentice. "Quite right." While counting, he had divided the notes into two piles; and now he slid them towards the middle of the table, and put an ink-stand on top to prevent their blowing away.