These thoughts, flushing and paling her cheek, quickening and staying her pulse, so engrossed Judith that, though she heard the voices in the adjoining apartment, she paid no heed to what was said.
The wind, which had been fresh all day, was blowing stronger. It battered at the window where Judith sat, as though a hand struck and brushed over the panes.
"Hot or cold?" asked Uncle Zachie.
"Thanky', neither. Water can be got everywhere, but such brandy as this, old man—only here."
"You are good to say so. It is Coppinger's present to me."
"Coppinger!—his very good health, and may he lie in clover to-morrow night. He's had one arm bound, I've seen; perhaps he may have two before the night grows much older."
Mr. Menaida raised his brows.
"I do not understand you."
"I daresay not," said Scantlebray. "It's the duty of all right-minded men to clear the world of rascals. I will do my duty, please the pigs. Would you mind—just another drop?"
After his glass had been refilled, Mr. Scantlebray leaned back in his chair and said:
"It's a wicked world, and, between you and me and the sugar dissolving at the bottom of my glass, you won't find more rascality anywhere than in my profession, and one of the biggest rascals in it is Mr. Cargreen. He's on the side against the orphings. If you've the faculty of pity in you, pity them—first, because they've him agin' 'em, and,'secondly, because they've lost me as their protector. You know whom they got in place of me? I wish them joy of him. But they won't have his wing over them long, I can tell you."
"You think not?"
"Sure of it."
"You think he'll throw it up?"
"I rather suspect he won't be at liberty to attend to it. He'll wan't his full attention to his own consarns."
Mr. Scantlebray tipped off his glass.
"It's going to be a dirty night," said he. "You won't mind my spending an hour or two with you, will you?"
