The general expression of his countenance was
pleasing, though dashed with a trait of the sinister. He was
seated in an easy chair, before a kidney table at which he was
writing. Near at hand was a long tall oaken desk, on which
were several folio volumes open, and some manuscripts which
denoted that he had recently been engaged with them. At
present Mr Hatton, with his pen still in his hand and himself
in a chamber-robe of the same material as his cap, leant back
in his chair, while he listened to his client, Sir Vavasour.
Several most beautiful black and tan spaniels of the breed of
King Charles the Second were reposing near him on velvet
cushions, with a haughty luxuriousness which would have become
the beauties of the merry monarch; and a white Persian cat
with blue eyes and a very long tail, with a visage not
altogether unlike that of its master, was resting with great
gravity on the writing-table, and assisting at the conference.
Sir Vavasour had evidently been delivering himself of a long
narrative, to which Mr Hatton had listened with that
imperturbable patience which characterised him, and which was
unquestionably one of the elements of his success. He never
gave up anything, and he never interrupted anybody.
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