“Don’t you like law, sir?”

“No—­I hate it.”

“Why, sir?”

“‘Why!’” cried Mr. Rushton, “there you are with your annoying questions!  I hate it because it lowers still more my opinion of this miserable humanity.  I see everywhere rascality, and fraud, and lies; and because there is danger of becoming the color of the stuff I work in, ‘like the dyer’s hand.’  I hate it,” growled Mr. Rushton.

“But you must see many noble things, sir, too,—­a great deal of goodness, you know.”

“Well, sir, so I do.  I don’t deny it.  There are some men who are not entirely corrupt,—­some who do not cheat systematically, and lie by the compass and the rule.  But these are the exceptions.  This life and humanity are foul sin from the beginning.  Trust no one, young man—­not even me; I may turn out a rogue.  I am no better than the rest of the wretches!”

“Oh, Mr. Rushton!”

“There you are with your exclamations!”

“Oh, I’m sure, sir—­”

“Be sure of nothing; let us end this jabber.  How is your mother?” said Mr. Rushton, abruptly.

“She’s very well, sir.”

“A good woman.”

“Oh, indeed she is, sir—­I love her dearly.”

“Hum! there’s no harm in that, though much selfishness, I do not doubt—­all humanity is narrow and selfish.  There are some things I procured for her.”

And Mr. Rushton pointed to a large bundle lying on the chair.

“For ma mere!” said Verty.

“Yes; I suppose that, in your outlandish lingo, means mother.  Yes, for her; the winter is coming on, and she will need something warm to wrap her—­poor creature—­from the cold.”

“Oh, how kind you are, Mr. Rushton!”

“Nonsense; I suppose I am at liberty to spend my own money.”

Verty looked at the lawyer with a grateful smile, and said: 

“I don’t think that what you said about everybody’s being selfish and bad is true, sir.  You are very good and kind.”

“Flummery!” observed the cynic, “I had a selfish motive:  I wished to appear generous—­I wished to be praised—­I wished to attach you to my service, in order to employ you, when the time came, in some rascally scheme.”

“Oh, Mr. Rushton!”

“Yes, sir; you know not why I present that winter wardrobe to your mother,” said the lawyer, triumphantly; “you don’t even know that it is my present!”

“How, sir?”

“May I not stop it from your salary, I should like to know, sir?”

And Mr. Rushton scowled at Verty.

“Oh!” said the young man.

“I may do anything—­I may have laid a plot to have you arrested for receiving stolen goods,” said the shaggy cynic, revelling in the creations of his invention; “I may have wrapped up an infernal machine, sir, in that bundle, which, when you open it, will explode like a cannon, and carry ruin and destruction to everything around!”