The sound of their voices arose, together with
a scent as of neglected wells, which, mingling with the odour of the
galleries, combined to form the savour, like nothing but the emanation
of a refined cheese, so indissolubly connected with the administration
of British Justice.
It was not long before James addressed his son.
"When's your case coming on? I suppose it'll be on directly. I shouldn't
wonder if this Bosinney'd say anything; I should think he'd have to.
He'll go bankrupt if it goes against him." He took a large bite at his
sandwich and a mouthful of sherry. "Your mother," he said, "wants you
and Irene to come and dine to-night."
A chill smile played round Soames' lips; he looked back at his father.
Anyone who had seen the look, cold and furtive, thus interchanged, might
have been pardoned for not appreciating the real understanding between
them. James finished his sherry at a draught.
"How much?" he asked.
On returning to the court Soames took at once his rightful seat on the
front bench beside his solicitor. He ascertained where his father was
seated with a glance so sidelong as to commit nobody.
James, sitting back with his hands clasped over the handle of his
umbrella, was brooding on the end of the bench immediately behind
counsel, whence he could get away at once when the case was over.
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