"Then I call it a wicked shame she wasn't," said Lydia. "And she's got to be now. If it isn't my business, it's Madame Beattie's, and I'll ask her to do it. I'll beg it of her."
With that she seemed still more dangerous to him, like an explosive put up in so seemly a package that at first you trust it until you see how impossible it is to handle. He spoke with a real and also a calculated impressiveness.
"Miss Lydia, will you let me tell you something?"
She nodded, her eyes fixed on his.
"One thing my profession has taught me. It's so absolutely true a thing that it never fails. And it's this: it is very easy to begin a course of proceeding, but, once begun, it's another thing to stop it. Now before you start this ball rolling—or before you egg on Madame Beattie—let's see what you're going to get out of it."
"I don't expect to get anything," said Lydia, on fire. "I'm not doing it for myself."
"Let's take the other people then. Your father is a man of reputation. He's going to be horrified. Jeff is going to be broken-hearted under an attack upon his wife."
"He doesn't love her," said Lydia eagerly. "Not one bit."
Choate himself believed that, but he stared briefly at having it thrown at him with so deft a touch. Then he went on.
"Mrs. Blake is going to be found not guilty."