success.
‘Well, Mr Bold,’ said he —‘well, what can I do for you? Very happy, I can assure you, to do anything for such a friend of my father-in-law.’
‘I hope you’ll excuse my calling, Dr Grantly.’
‘Certainly, certainly,’ said the archdeacon; ‘I can assure you, no apology is necessary from Mr Bold; only let me know what I can do for him.’
Dr Grantly was standing himself, and he did not ask Bold to sit, and therefore he had to tell his tale standing, leaning on the table, with his hat in his hand. He did, however, manage to tell it; and as the archdeacon never once interrupted him, or even encouraged him by a single word, he was not long in coming to the end of it.
‘And so, Mr Bold, I’m to understand, I believe, that you are desirous of abandoning this attack upon Mr Harding.’
‘Oh, Dr Grantly, there has been no attack, I can assure you —’
‘Well, well, we won’t quarrel about words; I should call it an attack — most men would so call an endeavour to take away from a man every shilling of income that he has to live upon; but it sha’n’t be an attack, if you don’t like it; you wish to abandon this — this little game of backgammon you’ve begun to play.’
‘I intend to put an end to the legal proceedings which I have commenced.’
‘I understand,’ said the archdeacon. ‘You’ve already had enough of it; well, I can’t say that I am surprised; carrying on a losing lawsuit where one has nothing to gain, but everything to pay, is not pleasant.’
Bold turned very red in the face. ‘You misinterpret my motives,’ said he; ‘but, however, that is of little consequence. I did not come to trouble you with my motives, but to tell you a matter of fact. Good-morning, Dr Grantly.’
‘One moment — one moment,’ said the other. ‘I don’t exactly appreciate the taste which induced you to make any personal communication to me on the subject; but I dare say I’m wrong, I dare say your judgment is the better of the two; but as you have done me the honour — as you have, as it were, forced me into a certain amount of conversation on a subject which had better, perhaps, have been left to our lawyers, you will excuse me if I ask you to hear my reply to your communication.’
‘I am in no hurry, Dr Grantly.’
‘Well, I am, Mr Bold; my time is not exactly leisure time, and, therefore, if you please, we’ll go to the point at once — you’re going to abandon this lawsuit?’— and he paused for a reply.
‘Yes, Dr Grantly, I am.’
‘Having exposed a gentleman who was one of your father’s warmest friends to all the ignominy and insolence which the press could heap upon his name, having somewhat ostentatiously declared that it was your duty as a man of high public virtue to protect those poor old fools whom you have humbugged there at the hospital, you now find that the game costs more than it’s worth, and so you make up your mind to have done with it. A prudent resolution, Mr Bold; but it is a pity you should have been so long coming to it. Has it struck you that we may not now choose to give over? that we may find it necessary to punish the injury you have done to us? Are you aware, sir, that we have gone to enormous expense to resist this iniquitous attempt of yours?’
Bold’s face was now furiously red, and he nearly crushed his hat between his hands; but he said nothing.
‘We have found it necessary to employ the best advice that money could procure. Are you aware, sir, what may be the probable cost of securing the services of the attorney-general?’
‘Not in the least, Dr Grantly.’
‘I dare say not, sir. When you recklessly put this affair into the hands of your friend Mr Finney, whose six-and-eightpences and thirteen-and-fourpences may, probably, not amount to a large sum, you were indifferent as to the cost and suffering which such a proceeding might entail on others; but are you aware, sir, that these crushing costs must now come out of your own pocket?’
‘Any demand of such a nature which Mr Harding’s lawyer may have to make will doubtless be made to my lawyer.’
‘“Mr Harding’s lawyer and my lawyer!” Did you come here merely to refer me to the lawyers? Upon my word I think the honour of your visit might have been spared! And now, sir, I’ll tell you what my opinion is — my opinion is, that we shall not allow you to withdraw this matter from the courts.’
‘You can do as you please, Dr Grantly; good-morning.’
‘Hear me out, sir,’ said the archdeacon; ‘I have here in my hands the last opinion given in this matter by Sir Abraham Haphazard. I dare say you have already heard of this — I dare say it has had something to do with your visit here today.’
‘I know nothing whatever of Sir Abraham Haphazard or his opinion.’
‘Be that as it may, here it is; he declares most explicitly that under no phasis of the affair whatever have you a leg to stand upon; that Mr Harding is as safe in his hospital as I am here in my rectory; that a more futile attempt to destroy a man was never made, than this which you have made to ruin Mr Harding. Here,’ and he slapped the paper on the table, ‘I have this opinion from the very first lawyer in the land; and under these circumstances you expect me to make you a low bow for your kind offer to release Mr Harding from the toils of your net! Sir, your net is not strong enough to hold him; sir, your net has fallen to pieces, and you knew that well enough before I told you — and now, sir, I’ll wish you good- morning, for I’m busy.’
Bold was now choking with passion. He had let the archdeacon run on because he knew not with what words to interrupt him; but now that he had been so defied and insulted, he could not leave the room without some reply.
‘Dr Grantly,’ he commenced.
‘I have nothing further to say or to hear,’ said the archdeacon. ‘I’ll do myself the honour to order your horse.’ And he rang the bell.
‘I came here, Dr Grantly, with the warmest, kindest feelings —’
‘Oh, of course you did; nobody doubts it.’
‘With the kindest feelings — and they have been most grossly outraged by your treatment.’
‘Of course they have — I have not chosen to see my father-in-law ruined; what an outrage that has been to your feelings!’
‘The time will come, Dr Grantly, when you will understand why I called upon you today.’
‘No doubt, no doubt. Is Mr Bold’s horse there? That’s right; open the front door. Good-morning, Mr Bold’; and the doctor stalked into his own drawing-room, closing the door behind him, and making it quite impossible that John Bold should speak another word.
As he got on his horse, which he was fain to do feeling like a dog turned out of a kitchen, he was again greeted by little Sammy.
‘Good-bye, Mr Bold; I hope we may have the pleasure of seeing you again before long; I am sure papa will always be glad to see you.’
That was certainly the bitterest moment in John Bold’s life. Not even the remembrance of his successful love could comfort him; nay, when he thought of Eleanor he felt that it was that very love
