“What kinds of things, Pearson?” still impartially.
“I can be plain with your Grace. Things like this: I was with Mr. Temple Barholm and Mr. Strangeways a great deal. They'll ask me about what I heard. They'll ask me if Mr. Strangeways was willing to go away to the doctor; if he had to be persuaded and argued with. Well, he had and he hadn't, your Grace. At first, just the mention of it would upset him so that Mr. Temple Barholm would have to stop talking about it and quiet him down. But when he improved—and he did improve wonderfully, your Grace—he got into the way of sitting and thinking it over and listening quite quiet. But if I'm asked suddenly—”
“What you are afraid of is that you may be asked point-blank questions without warning?” his Grace put it with the perspicacity of experience.
“That's why I should be grateful for advice. Must I tell the truth, your Grace, when it will make them believe things I'd swear are lies—I'd swear it, your Grace.”
“So would I, Pearson.” His serene lightness was of the most baffling, but curiously supporting, order. “This being the case, my advice would be not to go into detail. Let us tell white lies—all of us—without a shadow of hesitancy. Miss Temple Barholm, even you must do your best.”
“I will try—indeed, I will try!” And the Duke felt her tremulously ardent assent actually delicious.
“There! we'll consider that settled, Pearson,” he said.
“Thank you, your Grace. Thank you, Miss,” Pearson's relieved gratitude verged on the devout. He turned to go, and as he did so his attention was arrested by an approach he remarked through a window.
“Mr. and Miss Hutchinson are arriving now, Miss,” he announced, hastily.
“They are to be brought in here,” said Miss Alicia.