A Riddle Without an Answer
Again Mr. Mortimer Lightwood and Mr. Eugene Wrayburn sat together in the Temple. This evening, however, they were not together in the place of business of the eminent solicitor, but in another dismal set of chambers facing it on the same second-floor; on whose dungeon-like black outer-door appeared the legend:
Mr. Eugene Wrayburn
Mr. Mortimer Lightwood
(☞ Mr. Lightwood’s offices opposite.)
Appearances indicated that this establishment was a very recent institution. The white letters of the inscription were extremely white and extremely strong to the sense of smell, the complexion of the tables and chairs was (like Lady Tippins’s) a little too blooming to be believed in, and the carpets and floorcloth seemed to rush at the beholder’s face in the unusual prominency of their patterns. But the Temple, accustomed to tone down both the still life and the human life that has much to do with it, would soon get the better of all that.
“Well!” said Eugene, on one side of the fire, “I feel tolerably comfortable. I hope the upholsterer may do the same.”
“Why shouldn’t he?” asked Lightwood, from the other side of the fire.
“To be sure,” pursued Eugene, reflecting, “he is not in the secret of our pecuniary affairs, so perhaps he may be in an easy frame of mind.”
“We shall pay him,” said Mortimer.