“Wish to heaven you would,” thought the lawyer.
“Now which do you think will win, uncle or Mr. Pinder?”
“If law and justice were one, Miss Tinker, there could only be one answer—Mr. Pinder.”
“But they aren’t,—so that means Tom, that’s Mr. Pinder, will lose.”
“You really must excuse me, Miss Tinker, I’ve said, even now, more than I’d any right to say.”
“But don’t you see, I want to help Mr. Pinder to win. That’s what I came for. Didn’t I tell you? Dear me, I wish I’d gone to Lizzie first. She isn’t slow, at any rate.”
Mr. Sykes smiled. “No, my wife is not slow-witted, and I’m afraid I am. Perhaps that’s why she took pity on me.”
“Shouldn’t wonder. Now the question is, how can we help Mr. Pinder, I mean Lucy, of course.”
Mr. Sykes felt his brain beginning to give way in the vain striving after his visitor’s drift. “Lucy,” he murmured hopelessly.
“Yes, Lucy. She’s my dearest friend. And she’s to marry Tom,—Mr. Pinder I mean. That is to say she would if he would; but she says he wont, and perhaps she’s right. Anyway, she wanted him to win this case, and I want him to win this case, and what’s more, I mean him to win this case,—for Lucy’s sake, of course, because she says it’s all spite, and neither law nor justice, and you say so too, don’t you?”