There was a pause during which Eleanor did not say a word, but her whole being, body and mind, was a question; and O'Bannon, though he had become this strange, hostile creature, was yet enough her old friend to answer it.
"If you have any influence with Miss Thorne tell her to keep politics out of it—to get a good lawyer and to prepare a good case."
Eleanor saw that Albee's mission had failed. She would have rejoiced at this, except that the hostility of O'Bannon's manner hurt her beyond the power of rejoicing. She was not like Lydia—stimulated by enmity. She felt wounded and chilled by it. She told herself, as women always do in these circumstances, that there was nothing personal about his attitude, but there was something terribly personal in her not being able to change his black mood.
"She has a good lawyer—Wiley. Who can be better than Wiley?" she asked.
"He's often successful, I believe."
He began snapping out the light over the desk—a hint not too subtle. Eleanor started twice to say that most people believed that no jury would convict a girl like Lydia, but every phrase she thought of sounded like a challenge. They went downstairs. Ordinarily he would have offered to drive her home, although her own car was waiting for her. Now he took off his soft hat and was actually turning away when she caught him by the sleeve. His arm remained limp, almost humanly sulky, in her grasp.
"I've never known you like this before, Dan," she said.
"You must do me the justice to say," he answered, "that lately I have done my best to keep out of your way."
Eleanor dropped his arm and he started to move away.
"Tell me one thing," she said. "The grand jury will indict her?"