Miss Alicia started alarmedly.
The duke looked down at the delicate fawn gaiters covering his fine instep. His fleeting smile was not this time an external one.
“Do you not wish to speak the truth, Pearson?”
Pearson's manner could have been described only as one of obstinate frankness.
“No, your Grace. I do not! Your Grace may misunderstand me—but I do not!”
His Grace tapped the gaiters with the slight ebony cane he held in his hand.
“Is this “—he put it with impartial curiosity—“because the truth might be detrimental to our Mr. Temple Barholm?”
“If you please, your Grace,” Pearson made a firm step forward, “what is the truth?”
“That is what Messrs. Palford & Grimby seem determined to find out. Probably only our Mr. Temple Barholm can tell them.”
“Your Grace, what I'm thinking of is that if I tell the truth it may seem to prove something that's not the truth.”