make another loop, would all but have his foot on the opposite pavement, would see or imagine something coming, and would stagger back again. There, he would stand making spasmodic preparations as if for a great leap, and at last would decide on a start at precisely the wrong moment, and would be roared at by drivers, and would shrink back once more, and stand in the old spot shivering, with the whole of the proceedings to go through again.
“It strikes me,” remarked Eugene coolly, after watching him for some minutes, “that my friend is likely to be rather behind time if he has any appointment on hand.” With which remark he strolled on, and took no further thought of him.
Lightwood was at home when he got to the Chambers, and had dined alone there. Eugene drew a chair to the fire by which he was having his wine and reading the evening paper, and brought a glass, and filled it for good fellowship’s sake.
“My dear Mortimer, you are the express picture of contented industry, reposing (on credit) after the virtuous labours of the day.”
“My dear Eugene, you are the express picture of discontented idleness not reposing at all. Where have you been?”
“I have been,” replied Wrayburn, “—about town. I have turned up at the present juncture, with the intention of consulting my highly intelligent and respected solicitor on the position of my affairs.”
“Your highly intelligent and respect solicitor is of opinion that your affairs are in a bad way, Eugene.”
“Though whether,” said Eugene thoughtfully, “that can be intelligently said, now, of the affairs of a client who has nothing to lose and who cannot possibly be made to pay, may be open to question.”
“You have fallen into the hands of the Jews, Eugene.”