Stillford grew more confidently happy—and more amazed at Lynborough.
“But you’ve no right to—er—assert rights if you don’t intend to support them.”
“I do intend to support them, Mr Stillford. That you’ll very soon find out.”
“By force?” Stillford himself was gratified by the shocked solemnity which he achieved in this question.
“If so, your side has no prejudice against legal proceedings. Prisons are not strange to me——”
“What?” Stillford was a little startled. He had not heard all the stories about Lord Lynborough.
“I say, prisons are not strange to me. If necessary, I can do a month. I am, however, not altogether a novice in the somewhat degrading art of getting the other man to hit first. Then he goes to prison, doesn’t he? Just like the law! As if that had anything to do with the merits!”
Stillford kept his eye on the point valuable to him. “By supporting your claim I intended to convey supporting it by legal action.”
“Oh, the cunning of this world, the cunning of this world, Roger!” He flung himself into an arm-chair, laughing. Stillford was already seated. “Take a cigarette, Mr Stillford. You want to know whether I’m going to law or not, don’t you? Well, I’m not. Is there anything else you want to know? Oh, by the way, we don’t abstain from the law because we don’t know the law. Permit me—Mr Stillford, solicitor—Mr Roger Wilbraham, of the Middle Temple, Esquire, barrister-at-law. Had I known you were coming, Roger should have worn his wig. No, no, we know the law—but we hate it.”
Stillford was jubilant at a substantial gain—the appeal to law lay within the Marchesa’s choice now; and that was in his view a great advantage. But he was legitimately irritated by Lynborough’s sneers at his profession.