“Well, let her have a wire beforehand,” I counselled. “Tell her I’m all right, and send her my love. You’ll turn up at the court to-morrow to see me through, I suppose? Tell Mary I’ll probably come down to Morwen with you on Friday. That’ll cheer her up no end.”
“I hope you may! But suppose it goes against you, and you’re committed for trial?” Jim demanded gloomily. His customary cheeriness seemed to have deserted him altogether at this juncture.
“I’m not going to suppose anything so unpleasant till I have to,” I asserted. “Be off with you, and send that wire to Mary!”
I wanted to get rid of him. He wasn’t exactly an inspiriting companion just now; besides, I thought it possible that Southbourne might come to see me again; and I had determined to tackle him about that portrait, and try to exact the same pledge from him that I had from Jim. He might, of course, have shown it to a dozen people, as he had to Jim; and on the other hand he might not.
He came right enough, and I opened on him at once. He looked at me in his lazy way, through half-closed lids,—I don’t think I’ve ever seen that man open his eyes full,—and smiled.
“So you do know the lady, after all,” he remarked.
“I’m not talking of the original of the portrait, but of Miss Pendennis,” I retorted calmly. “I’ve seen Cayley, and he’s quite ready to acknowledge that he was misled by the likeness; but so may other people be if you’ve been showing it around.”
“Well, no; as it happens, I haven’t done that. Only you and he have seen it, besides myself. I showed it him because I knew you and he were intimate, and I wanted to see if he would recognize her, as you did,—or thought you did,—when I showed it you, though you wouldn’t own up to it. I’m really curious to know who the original is.”
“So am I, to a certain extent; but anyhow, she’s not Miss Pendennis!” I said decisively; though whether he believed me or not I can’t say. “And I won’t have her name even mentioned in connection with that portrait!”