"It was so good of you to admit me—especially not knowing who I was. You recognise me now, of course? I am Lady Violet Calcott."
"I should recognise you more easily," he said in his emotionless voice, "if you would be good enough to put up your veil."
His tone was perfectly quiet and courteous, yet she made a rapid movement to comply, as if he had definitely required it of her. She threw back the obscuring veil and showed him the face of one of the most beautiful women in London.
There was an instant's pause before he said.
"Yes, I recognise you, of course. And—you wanted to consult me?"
"No!" She leaned forward in her chair with white hands clasped. "I wanted to beg you to tell me—why you have refused to undertake Burleigh Wentworth's defence!"
She spoke with a breathless intensity. Her wonderful eyes were lifted to his—eyes that had dazzled half London, but Field only looked down into them as he might have regarded one of his legal documents. A slight, peculiar smile just touched his lips as he made reply.
"I have no objection to telling you, Lady Violet. He is guilty. That is why."
"Ah!" It was a sound like the snapped string of an instrument. Her fingers gripped each other. "So you think that too! Indeed—indeed, you are wrong! But—is that your only reason?"
"Isn't it a sufficient one?" he said.