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no longer hidden and lost in the interests of others. That's something. The suit does not sleep; we wake it up, we air it, we walk it about. That's something. It's not all Jarndyce, in fact as well as in name. That's something. Nobody has it all his own way now, sir. And that's something, surely.”

Richard, his face flushing suddenly, strikes the desk with his clenched hand.

“Mr. Vholes! If any man had told me, when I first went to John Jarndyce's house, that he was anything but the disinterested friend he seemed—that he was what he has gradually turned out to be—I could have found no words strong enough to repel the slander; I could not have defended him too ardently. So little did I know of the world! Whereas, now, I do declare to you that he becomes to me the embodiment of the suit; that, in place of its being an abstraction, it is John Jarndyce; that the more I suffer, the more indignant I am with him; that every new delay, and every new disappointment, is only a new injury from John Jarndyce's hand.”

“No, no,” says Vholes. “Don't say so. We ought to have patience, all of us. Besides, I never disparage, sir. I never disparage.”

“Mr. Vholes,” returns the angry client. “You know as well as I, that he would have strangled the suit if he could.”

“He was not active in it,” Mr. Vholes admits, with an appearance of reluctance. “He certainly was not active in it. But however, but however, he might have had amiable intentions. Who can read the heart, Mr. C!”

“You can,” returns Richard.

“I, Mr. C?”

“Well enough to know what his intentions were. Are, or are not, our interests conflicting? Tell—me—that!” says Richard, accompanying his last three words with three raps on his rock of trust.

“Mr. C,” returns Vholes, immovable in attitude and never winking his hungry eyes, “I should be wanting in my duty as your professional adviser, I should be departing from my fidelity to your interests, if I represented those interests as identical with the interests of Mr. Jarndyce. They are no such thing, sir. I never impute motives; I both have, and am, a father, and I never impute motives. But I must not shrink from a professional duty, even if it sows dissension in families. I understand you to be now consulting me professionally, as to your interests? You are so? I reply then, they are not identical with those of Mr. Jarndyce.”

“Of course they are not!” cries Richard. “You found that out, long ago.”

“Mr. C,” returns Vholes, “I wish to say no more of any third party than is necessary. I wish to leave my good name unsullied, together with any little property of which I may become possessed through industry and perseverance, to my daughters Emma, Jane, and Caroline. I also desire to live in amity with my professional brethren. When Mr. Skimpole did me the honor, sir—I will not say the very high honor, for I never stoop to flattery—of bringing us together in this room, I mentioned to you that I could offer no opinion or advice as to your