“One other person.”
“Who was this other person?”
“A friend of mine—a young lady.”
“What was the name of this young woman?”
“Is it necessary to give her name? I hope—I hope with all my heart—that that will not be necessary.” The low, urgent, unhappy voice stumbled in its intensity. “My companion was quite a young girl. We both realize now that we committed a grave indiscretion, but I shall never forgive myself if my criminal stupidity has involved her.”
“I am afraid that we shall have to have her name.”
“I am a married man,” said Mr. Phipps, in a clear voice that did not stumble. “I am placing this information before the Court at no small sacrifice to myself. It seems to me to place too heavy a penalty on my decision to come forward at this moment if you ask me to involve another by so doing. The girl who was with me that evening was one of my pupils; she is at present engaged to a young man to whom she is entirely devoted; publicity of the type that this means is in every way abhorrent to her. I request most urgently that she shall not be exposed to it.”
“Mr. Phipps,” said Judge Carver gravely, “you have been permitted to take the stand at your own request. It is highly desirable that any information, of the importance that you have implied that in your possession to be, should be as fully corroborated as possible. It is therefore essential that we should have the name of this young woman.”
“Her name is Sally Dunne,” said Mr. Phipps.
“Is she also prepared to take the stand?”