“Mr. Bellby is here, sir,” said the clerk; “Mr. Dreamer will be ten minutes.”

Mr. Bellby, the junior—­not as junior as he might have been, for Soames only employed barristers of established reputation; it was, indeed, something of a mystery to him how barristers ever managed to establish that which made him employ them—­Mr. Bellby was seated, taking a final glance through his papers.  He had come from Court, and was in wig and gown, which suited a nose jutting out like the handle of a tiny pump, his small shrewd blue eyes, and rather protruding lower lip—­no better man to supplement and stiffen Dreamer.

The introduction to Winifred accomplished, they leaped the weather and spoke of the war.  Soames interrupted suddenly: 

“If he doesn’t comply we can’t bring proceedings for six months.  I want to get on with the matter, Bellby.”

Mr. Bellby, who had the ghost of an Irish brogue, smiled at Winifred and murmured:  “The Law’s delays, Mrs. Dartie.”

“Six months!” repeated Soames; “it’ll drive it up to June!  We shan’t get the suit on till after the long vacation.  We must put the screw on, Bellby”—­he would have all his work cut out to keep Winifred up to the scratch.

“Mr. Dreamer will see you now, sir.”

They filed in, Mr. Bellby going first, and Soames escorting Winifred after an interval of one minute by his watch.

Dreamer Q.C., in a gown but divested of wig, was standing before the fire, as if this conference were in the nature of a treat; he had the leathery, rather oily complexion which goes with great learning, a considerable nose with glasses perched on it, and little greyish whiskers; he luxuriated in the perpetual cocking of one eye, and the concealment of his lower with his upper lip, which gave a smothered turn to his speech.  He had a way, too, of coming suddenly round the corner on the person he was talking to; this, with a disconcerting tone of voice, and a habit of growling before he began to speak—­had secured a reputation second in Probate and Divorce to very few.  Having listened, eye cocked, to Mr. Bellby’s breezy recapitulation of the facts, he growled, and said: 

“I know all that;” and coming round the corner at Winifred, smothered the words: 

“We want to get him back, don’t we, Mrs. Dartie?”

Soames interposed sharply: 

“My sister’s position, of course, is intolerable.”

Dreamer growled.  “Exactly.  Now, can we rely on the cabled refusal, or must we wait till after Christmas to give him a chance to have written—­that’s the point, isn’t it?”

“The sooner....”  Soames began.

“What do you say, Bellby?” said Dreamer, coming round his corner.

Mr. Bellby seemed to sniff the air like a hound.

“We won’t be on till the middle of December.  We’ve no need to give um more rope than that.”

“No,” said Soames, “why should my sister be incommoded by his choosing to go...”