"That is not so," she broke in rapidly. "You know that is not so. You know that your genius has placed you in what is really a unique position. Your name in itself is almost a mascot. You know quite well that you carry all before you with your eloquence. If—if you couldn't get him acquitted, you could get him lenient treatment. You could save his life from utter ruin."
She clasped and unclasped her hands in nervous excitement. Her face was piteous in its strain and pathos.
And still Field looked unmoved upon her distress.
"I am afraid I can't help you," he said. "My eloquence would need a very strong incentive in such a case as this to balance my lack of sympathy."
"What do you mean by—incentive?" she said, her voice very low. "I will do anything—anything in my power—to induce you to change your mind. I never lost hope until—I heard you had refused to defend him. Surely—surely—there is some means of persuading you left!"
For the first time his smile was openly cynical.
"Don't offer me money, please!" he said.
She flushed vividly, hotly.
"Mr. Field! I shouldn't dream of it!"
"No?" he said. "But it was more than a dream with you when you first entered this room."