“Don’t do it, then,” said Grenfell, bluntly.
“Ah! it’s very well saying don’t do it, Mr. Grenfell, but it’s not so easy when you have to explain to your client why you ‘wont do it.’”
Grenfell lit a cigarette, and smoked on without reply. “It was finding myself in this difficulty,” continued M’Kinlay, “I thought I’d apply to you.”
“To me! And why, in Heaven’s name, to me?” “Simply, Sir, as Sir Within’s most intimate friend—the person, of all others, most likely to enjoy his confidence.”
“That may be true enough in one sense,” said Grenfell, evidently liking the flattery of the position attributed to him; “but though we are, as you observe, on the most intimate terms with each other, I give you my solemn word of honour he never so much as hinted to me that he was going mad.”
Mr. M’Kinlay turned angrily away; such levity was, he felt, unbecoming and misplaced, nor was he altogether easy in his mind as to the use a man so unscrupulous and indelicate might make of a privileged communication. While he stood thus irresolute, Grenfell came over to him, and, laying a finger on his arm, said:
“I’ll tell you who’ll manage this matter for you better—infinitely better—than either of us; Miss Courtenay.”
“Miss Courtenay!” repeated “the lawyer, with astonishment.
“Yes, Miss Courtenay. You have only to see, by the refined attention she bestows on him, how thoroughly she understands the break-up that has come upon his mind; her watchful anxiety to screen him from any awkward exposure; how carefully she smoothes down the little difficulties he occasionally finds at catching the clue of any theme. She sees what he is coming to, and would evidently like to spare him the pain of seeing it while his consciousness yet remains.”
“I almost think I have remarked that. I really believe you are right. And what could she do—I mean, what could I ask her to do—in this case?”