‘Then why does she not consult some discreet and learned person, her spiritual director? Remorse (entirely due, no doubt, to a conscience too delicately sensitive) is not in our line of affairs. We only advise in cases of undesirable matrimonial engagements.’
‘So we are aware,’ said Miss Crofton. ‘Dear Julia is engaged, or rather entangled, in—how many cases, dear?’
Julia shook her head and sobbed behind her veil.
‘Is it one, Julia—nod when I come to the exact number—two? three? four?’
At the word ‘four’ Julia nodded assent.
Merton very much wished that Julia would raise her veil. Her figure was excellent, and with so many sins of this kind on her remorseful head, her face, Merton thought, must be worth seeing. The case was new. As a rule, clients wanted to disentangle their friends and relations. This client wanted to disentangle herself.
‘This case,’ said Merton, ‘will be difficult to conduct, and the expenses would be considerable. I can hardly advise you to incur them. Our ordinary method is to throw in the way of one or other of the engaged, or entangled persons, some one who is likely to distract their affections; of course,’ he added, ‘to
a more eligible object. How can I hope to find an object more eligible, Miss Crofton, than I must conceive your interesting friend to be?’
Miss Crofton caressingly raised Julia’s veil. Before the victim of remorse could bury her face in her hands, Merton had time to see that it was a very pretty one. Julia was dark, pale, with ‘eyes like billiard balls’ (as a celebrated amateur once remarked), with a beautiful mouth, but with a somewhat wildly enthusiastic expression.
‘How can I hope?’ Merton went on, ‘to find a worthier and more attractive object? Nay, how can I expect to secure the services not of one, but of four—’