But what have I to do
with all this? And what on earth is the matter with you?" he
resumed, noticing for the first time the abject misery in Mr.
Bashwood's manner, the blank despair in Mr. Bashwood's face,
which his answer had produced. "Are you ill? Is there something
behind the curtain that you're afraid to bring out? I don't
understand it. Have you come here--here in my private room, in
business hours--with nothing to tell me but that young Armadale
has been fool enough to ruin his prospects for life? Why, I
foresaw it all weeks since, and what is more, I as good as told
him so at the last conversation I had with him in the great
house."
At those last words, Mr. Bashwood suddenly rallied. The lawyer's
passing reference to the great house had led him back in a moment
to the purpose that he had in view.
"That's it, sir!" he said, eagerly; "that's what I wanted to
speak to you about; that's what I've been preparing in my mind.
Mr. Pedgift, sir, the last time you were at the great house, when
you came away in your gig, you--you overtook me on the drive."
"I dare say I did," remarked Pedgift, resignedly. "My mare
happens to be a trifle quicker on her legs than you are on yours,
Bashwood.
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