“I don’t understand so well as I thought.”
“You do your understanding injustice. If Sir Francis was a villain from the beginning, I am comfortable. If that old story about him and my father should turn out to my father’s credit, then I should be the daughter of an honest man, who was wickedly abused; and that will be to my advantage. If this man who was lately murdered proves to have been really my father, all the better. The opposite alternatives would be what I should not like. Now, as Sir Francis has given himself up, ’tis likely he means to make a full confession: and meanwhile I’m in suspense. What is your opinion about him?”
“I have been on friendly terms with him for a good many years.”
“And you mean to stick by him, right or wrong?”
“As against people in general—yes.”
“Does that mean that you are going to sacrifice your conscience only in special cases?”
“I could do anything to serve you,” said Fillmore, with measured emphasis.
“And I am to consider it a compliment if you betray an old friend to please a new acquaintance? You are severe, Mr. Fillmore!”
She said this smilingly but the lawyer could not tell whether she were offended, or were only teasing him. If he had needed any assurance that she was not a woman to be easily duped by flattery, he had it now. He had intended merely to indicate that he would not lightly be false to a trust, but she had contrived to make him imply nearly the reverse. His real sentiments in the matter were, in fact, honorable enough, though he was sensible of a fatal fascination about Perdita, stronger than the attractions of virtue. For a moment he hesitated, undecided whether to draw back now and finally, or to go on.
“Do you give me up?” asked Perdita, with a little laugh.