"I won't see them," she cried.
"Perhaps it would be good policy," said the lawyer thoughtfully.
"No," she retorted emphatically. "I won't see them."
"Yes, Paula," said the lawyer kindly, but firmly, "they can keep up this legal battle for years—as long as they choose—until we're exhausted and most of the money we're fighting for is expended in fees and costs. Cooley will never give up—and we can't go on without money. Something might be gained by meeting them halfway." He hesitated a moment and then went on: "Cooley told me over the telephone just now that he had new evidence. He could prove that his client had a partnership with his brother, and was entitled to half——"
"He can prove anything," she cried contemptuously. "I refuse to degrade myself by a compromise. It shall be all or nothing."
Nervous and agitated, Mr. Ricaby strode up and down the room. He was advising the girl for the best. He had experience in these matters. Well he knew the law's terrible delays, and even then the result was uncertain.
"If you fight them," he said, "it means more costly litigation. I may be able to get Wratchett, but I'm not sure that he'll fight Cooley. They're such strong political cronies. You've nothing to lose by holding out the olive branch, and much to gain. Really, Paula, it's better for you to see them. I am so sure about it that I told them to come over."
With a gesture of discouragement Paula sank down in a chair.
"God knows I'm as tired of the struggle as you are, Mr. Ricaby," she cried, "but I hate to give up. I know you're advising me for the best—yes—I'll be guided by you—I will see them—and—and yield as gracefully as I can, but it seems hard, very hard. When will they come?"