LITMIR.BIZ

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crept a little closer to me with a manner at once penitent and wheedling.

      “You are not going to be angry with me, are you? It was foolish of me to listen to Mr. Lawley after all you have told me, and it did look like a want of trust in you, I know. But you, who are so strong and wise, must make allowance for a woman who is neither. It is all so terrible that I am quite unstrung; but say you are not really displeased with me, for that would hurt me most of all.”

      Oh! Delilah! That concluding stroke of the shears severed the very last lock, and left me—morally speaking—as bald as a billiard ball. Henceforth I was at her mercy and would have divulged, without a scruple, the uttermost secrets of my principal, but that that astute gentleman had placed me beyond the reach of temptation.

      “As to being angry with you,” I answered, “I am not, like Thorndyke, one to essay the impossible, and if I could be angry it would hurt me more than it would you. But, in fact, you are not to blame at all, and I am an egotistical brute. Of course you were alarmed and distressed; nothing could be more natural. So now let me try to chase away your fears and restore your confidence.

      “I have told you what Thorndyke said to Reuben: that he had good hopes of making his innocence clear to everybody. That alone should have been enough.”

      “I know it should,” murmured Juliet remorsefully; “please forgive me for my want of faith.”

      “But,” I continued, “I can quote you the words of one to whose opinions you will attach more weight. Mr. Anstey was here less than half-an-hour ago—”

      “Do you mean Reuben’s counsel?”

      “Yes.”

      “And what did he say? Oh, do tell me what he said.”

      “He said, in brief, that he was quite confident of obtaining an acquittal, and that the prosecution would receive a great surprise. He seemed highly pleased with his brief, and spoke with great admiration of Thorndyke.”

      “Did he really say that—that he was confident of an ac­quittal?” Her voice was breathless and unsteady, and she was clearly, as she had said, quite unstrung. “What a relief it is,” she murmured incoherently; “and so very, very kind of you!” She wiped her eyes and laughed a queer, shaky little laugh; then, quite suddenly, she burst into a passion of sobbing.

      Hardly conscious of what I did, I drew her gently towards me, and rested her head on my shoulder whilst I whispered into her ear I know not what words of consolation; but I am sure that I called her “dear Juliet,” and probably used other expressions equally improper and reprehensible. Presently she recovered herself, and, having dried her eyes, regarded me somewhat shamefacedly, blushing hotly, but smiling very sweetly nevertheless.

      “I am ashamed of myself,” she said, “coming here and weep­ing on your bosom like a great baby. It is to be hoped that your other clients do not behave in this way.”

      Whereat we both laughed heartily, and, our emotional equilibrium being thus restored, we began to think of the object of our meeting.

      “I am afraid I have wasted a great deal of time,” said Juliet, looking at her watch. “Shall we be too late, do you think?”

      “I hope not,” I replied, “for Reuben will be looking for us; but we must hurry.”

      I caught up my hat, and we went forth, closing the oak behind us, and took our way up King’s Bench Walk in silence, but with a new and delightful sense of intimate comradeship. I glanced from time to time at my companion, and noted that her cheek still bore a rosy flush, and when she looked at me there was a sparkle in her eye, and a smiling softness in her glance, that stirred my heart until I trembled with the intensity of the passion that I must needs conceal. And even while I was feeling that I must tell her all, and have done with it, tell her that I was her abject slave, and she my goddess, my queen; that in the face of such a love as mine no man could have any claim upon her; even then, there arose the still, small voice that began to call me an unfaithful steward and to remind me of a duty and trust that were sacred even beyond love.

      In Fleet Street I hailed a cab, and, as I took my seat beside my fair companion, the voice began to wax and speak in bolder and sterner accents.

      “Christopher Jervis,” it said, “what is this that you are doing? Are you a man of honour or nought but a mean, pitiful blackguard? You, the trusted agent of this poor, misused gentleman, are you not planning in your black heart how you shall rob him of that which, if he is a man at all, must be more to him than his liberty, or even his honour? Shame on you for a miserable weakling! Have done with these philanderings and keep your covenants like a gentleman—or, at least, an honest man!”

      At this point in my meditations Juliet turned towards me with a coaxing smile.

      “My legal adviser seems to be revolving some deep and weighty matter,” she said.

      I pulled myself together and looked at her—at her sparkling eyes and rosy, dimpling cheeks, so winsome and lovely and lovable.

      “Come,” I thought, “I must put an end to this at once, or I am lost.” But it cost me a very agony of effort to do it—which agony, I trust, may be duly set to my account by those who may sit in judgement on me.

      “Your legal adviser, Miss Gibson,” I said (and at that “Miss Gibson” I thought she looked at me a little queerly), “has been reflecting that he has acted considerably beyond his jurisdiction.”

      “In what respect?” she asked.

      “In passing on to you information which was given to him in very strict confidence, and, in fact, with an implied promise of secrecy on his part.”

      “But the information was not of a very secret character, was it?”

      “More so than it appeared. You see, Thorndyke thinks it so important not to let the prosecution suspect that he has anything up his sleeve, that he has kept even Mr. Lawley in the dark, and he has never said as much to me as Anstey did this morning.”

      “And now you are sorry you told me; you think I have led you into a breach of trust. Is it not so?” She spoke without a trace of petulance, and her tone of dignified self-accusation made me feel a veritable worm.

      “My dear Miss Gibson,” I expostulated, “you entirely misunderstand me. I am not in the least sorry that I told you. How could I have done otherwise under the circumstances? But I want you to understand that I have taken the responsibility of communicating to you what is really a professional secret, and that you are to consider it as such.”

      “That was how I understood it,” replied Juliet; “and you may rely upon me not to utter a syllable on the subject to anyone.”

      I thanked her for this promise, and then, by way of making conversation, gave her an account in detail of Anstey’s visit, not even omitting the incident of the cigar.

      “And are Dr. Thorndyke’s cigars so extraordinarily bad?” she asked.

      “Not at all,” I replied; “only they are not to every man’s taste. The Trichinopoly cheroot is Thorndyke’s one dissipation, and, I must say, he takes it very temperately. Under ordinary circumstances he smokes a pipe; but after a specially heavy day’s work, or on any occasion of festivity or rejoicing, he indulges in a Trichin­opoly, and he smokes the very best that can be got.”

      “So even the greatest men have their weaknesses,” Juliet mor­al­ised; “but I wish I had known Dr. Thorndyke’s sooner, for Mr. Hornby had a large box of Trichinopoly cheroots given to him, and I believe they were exceptionally fine ones. However, he tried one and didn’t like it, so he transferred the whole consignment to Walter, who smokes all sorts and conditions of cigars.”

      So we talked on from one commonplace to another, and each more conventional than the last. In my nervousness, I overdid my part, and having broken the ice, proceeded to smash it to impalpable fragments. Endeavouring merely to be unemotional and to avoid undue intimacy of manner, I swung to the opposite extreme and became almost stiff; and perhaps

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