“He gave himself up voluntarily,” said Fillmore. “He had ample opportunity to escape, if he had wished it. I offered to help him off; but he refused.”
“You...? You did see him, then?”
“He came to my office in the midst of the disturbance.”
Perdita’s dark, sparkling eyes fixed themselves steadfastly upon the lawyer. “In that case,” she said slowly, “he probably told you.... Will you tell me all that passed?”
Fillmore complied, and Perdita listened to his story with close attention. After it was told, she sat for a while with her forefinger against her chin, meditating.
“I don’t know whether to be pleased or displeased,” she remarked at length. “ ’Tis rather exciting, at all events. I knew about Rackett’s, and all that: I knew more than he ever suspected. But I thought he was clever enough to secure himself. I’m not sure but I might have helped him, if he had applied to me.”
“Even if your means would have sufficed, he was past helping.”
“I should have done it for my own sake, not for his,” said Perdita, with a smile of cynical candor. “I care for what happens to him only as it may affect me. You won’t be obliged, sir, to remodel your estimate of my character on the idea that I am given to self-sacrifice. And I should certainly not begin with Sir Francis. On the contrary!”
“I understand. You think his disgrace may affect you?”
“I only fear that he may not be disgraced enough.”