"That"--Sir Peter's eyes left the deed-boxes, and resumed an inspection suddenly more purposeful than benignant--"is precisely what I have been considering for the last three days."
"You said there might be a way----"
"Did I?" The old gentleman took up his ivory paper-knife. "Did I, though?"
"Yes. You said it depended on my--my former husband."
"Then I made a mistake." The Wilberforce purr, was sheerest self-accusation. "It doesn't. As a matter of fact, the plan I had in mind depends more on"--the paper-knife tapped slow Morse--"the lady in the case than any one else. And even then----"
The paper-knife hung suspended. Although the founder of Wilberforce, Wilberforce & Cartwright was celebrated for his handling of delicate situations, he had never, in half a century of practice, encountered a social situation as delicate as this one.
"Does my co-executor know of this visit?" he proceeded after a pause which dropped Aliette's heart into the tips of her shoes.
"No. I--I wanted to consult you privately."
"And would you be bound to--er--tell him of any suggestion I might make?"
"Well----" Again Aliette managed a smile. "That would rather depend on the suggestion, wouldn't it?"