“A man of a very ill-regulated mind,” observes Sir Leicester with severity. “An extremely dangerous person in any community. A man of a very low character of mind.”
“He is obstinate,” says Mr. Tulkinghorn.
“It is natural to such a man to be so,” says Sir Leicester, looking most profoundly obstinate himself. “I am not at all surprised to hear it.”
“The only question is,” pursues the lawyer, “whether you will give up anything.”
“No, sir,” replies Sir Leicester. “Nothing. I give up?”
“I don’t mean anything of importance. That, of course, I know you would not abandon. I mean any minor point.”
“Mr. Tulkinghorn,” returns Sir Leicester, “there can be no minor point between myself and Mr. Boythorn. If I go farther, and observe that I cannot readily conceive how ANY right of mine can be a minor point, I speak not so much in reference to myself as an individual as in reference to the family position I have it in charge to maintain.”
Mr. Tulkinghorn inclines his head again. “I have now my instructions,” he says. “Mr. Boythorn will give us a good deal of trouble—”
“It is the character of such a mind, Mr. Tulkinghorn,” Sir Leicester interrupts him, “TO give trouble. An exceedingly ill-conditioned, levelling person. A person who, fifty years ago, would probably have been tried at the Old Bailey for some demagogue proceeding, and severely punished—if not,” adds Sir Leicester after a moment’s pause, “if not hanged, drawn, and quartered.”
Sir Leicester appears to discharge his stately breast of a burden in passing this capital sentence, as if it were the next satisfactory thing to having the sentence executed.