Timms entered with a hurried air. For the first time in his life he appeared to his associate and old master to be agitated. Cold, calculating, and cunning, this man seldom permitted himself to be so much thrown off his guard as to betray emotion; but now he actually did. There was a tremor in his form that extended to his voice; and he seemed afraid to trust the latter even in the customary salutations. Nodding his head, he drew a[drew a] chair and took his seat.
“You have been to the gaol?” asked Dunscomb.
A nod was the answer.
“You were admitted, and had an interview with our client?”
Nod the third was the only reply.
“Did you put the questions to her, as I desired?”
“I did, sir; but I would sooner cross-examine all Duke’s, than undertake to get anything she does not wish to tell, out of that one young lady!”
“I fancy most young ladies have a faculty for keeping such matters to themselves as they do not wish to reveal. Am I to understand that you got no answers?”
“I really do not know, ’Squire. She was polite, and obliging, and smiling—but, somehow or other, I do not recollect her replies.”
“You must be falling in love, Timms, to return with such an account,” retorted Dunscomb, a cold but very sarcastic smile passing over his face. “Have a care, sir; ’tis a passion that makes a fool of a man sooner than any other. I do not think there is much danger of the lady’s returning your flame; unless, indeed, you can manage to make her acquittal a condition of the match.”