His friend Jessop (unlike some so-called friends), having got a good start up the ladder of law, reached back a hand to his struggling schoolfellow; and an opening--a good opening--was all that his struggling schoolfellow required. His brains, his ceaseless industry, his good address, and his handsome appearance did the rest. He was far cleverer than his friend Jessop, and had twice his perseverance and talent for steady application. Jessop could keep a bar dinner in a roar of laughter, but Wynne could hold, as it were, in his hand, the eyes and ears of a jury. He had a natural gift for oratory; he had a clear, sonorous voice; he was never at a loss for a word--the right word; never said too much, or too little; never lost an opportunity of making a point, or of driving home an argument. In short, among the juniors he was a pearl of price. His brilliant articles of biting satire, which were read by every one, had brought his name up, and his name had been speedily followed by his appearance in person--his appearance in a successful case. In short, a tide in his affairs had come, and he had taken it at the flood, and the little skiff “success” was sailing over the waves in gallant style. He had been most fortunate in one or two minor cases; he could not afford to be careless, like great men who had made their reputations. He began to be spoken of as a very rising junior, and to be consulted on crotchety points of law, to be listened to whenever he opened his lips, to be asked out to many professional dinners, and to receive--oh, joy!--not a few briefs on which the name of Laurence Wynne was inscribed in a round legal hand. Yes, he was getting on rapidly. He could now afford to pay well for the maintenance of Master Wynne, to make handsome presents to the Holts, to allow himself new clothes and books, and the luxury of belonging to a good club. And what about Mrs. Wynne all this time? Madeline was rather agitated by so unexpectedly beholding her husband on the platform, the night they left for Ireland. Her heart beat fast, and her eyes were rather dim as they lost sight of his figure in the crowd. “Poor Laurence! How fond he was of her,” she said to herself, with a sharp pang of compunction. “Fancy his coming up all that way, for just _one_ glimpse, one little look across the crowd!” But, latterly, Madeline West had been so overwhelmed with attention, that she now took many things as a matter of course, and but a proper tribute to her own importance.