He was there at that moment. The servant opened the door, and
announced--"Mr. Delamayn."

III.

Externally speaking, the rising solicitor, who was going to try his
luck at the Bar, looked like a man who was going to succeed. His hard,
hairless face, his watchful gray eyes, his thin, resolute lips, said
plainly, in so many words, "I mean to get on in the world; and, if
you are in my way, I mean to get on at your expense." Mr. Delamayn was
habitually polite to every body--but he had never been known to say one
unnecessary word to his dearest friend. A man of rare ability; a man of
unblemished honor (as the code of the world goes); but not a man to be
taken familiarly by the hand. You would never have borrowed money
of him--but you would have trusted him with untold gold. Involved in
private and personal troubles, you would have hesitated at asking him
to help you. Involved in public and producible troubles, you would have
said, Here is my man. Sure to push his way--nobody could look at him and
doubt it--sure to push his way.

"Kendrew is an old friend of mine," said Mr. Vanborough, addressing
himself to the lawyer. "Whatever you have to say to _me_ you may say
before _him._ Will you have some wine?"

"No--thank you."

"Have you brought any news?"

"Yes."