"What do you want to do?"
The client cast down his eyes, and into his sallow cheeks came a dull flush.
"I wanted to protect her," he answered slowly; "and I wanted—I wanted to prove to her that—that I'd do what I could for her, if we were divorced."
The face of the other man softened; he took the limp hand of his companion and shook it warmly.
"There are better ways of doing it than dragging her name before the court," he said. "I tell you fairly that the suit you propose would be ridiculous. It would make you both a laughing-stock, and in the end come to nothing."
The square jaw was still firmly set, but the small eyes were more wistful than ever.
"But I must do something," Barnstable said. "I can't stand it not to do anything."
Harbinger rose with the air of a man who considers the interview ended.
"There is nothing that you can do now," he replied. "Just be quiet, and wait. Things will come round all right if you have patience; but don't be foolish. A lawyer learns pretty early in his professional life that there are a good many things that must be left to right themselves."
Barnstable rose in turn. He seemed to be trying hard to adjust his mind to a new view of the situation, but it was evident enough that his brain was not of the sort to yield readily to fresh ideas of any kind. He examined his hat carefully, passing his thumb and forefinger round the rim as if to assure himself that it was all there; then he cleared his throat, and regarded the lawyer wistfully.