She went on excitedly: “We used to wonder who could have told that wicked lie. No one would tell me, not even Mr. Kentworthy!”
Her eyes filled with tears; instinctively she covered her face with her hands.
The great advocate told himself that he was not in the least moved by this display of emotion. Your unsuccessful liar, especially if she be a woman, often covers up her confusion at being found out by shedding quite genuine tears.
“I am sure you understand,” he said firmly, “that this fact, which you very foolishly and dishonourably—if you will forgive my saying so—concealed from me just now, puts a far more serious complexion on our side of the case.”
“I see what you mean,” she said in a low voice; and she looked so unutterably miserable that, in spite of himself, the man’s heart softened.
After all, she was a very pretty little girl—far more pitiful and appealing, now that she was showing distress and emotion, than she had appeared when so coldly restrained. He told himself that it was rather beastly that he, Harold Anstey, who was so fortunate, so prosperous, and, as a rule, such a lucky dog with women, should allow himself to be vexed that he had been taken in—for once!
He suddenly began to feel kindly, protective, generous, as well as again shrewdly alive to the importance of winning what was evidently going to be a very big case.
He got up and came and put his big right hand on her slender shoulder: “Now, look here, my dear——?”
She shrank back a little, then drying her eyes, she looked up at him, fearlessly and bravely.
“I am going to do my very best to save your lover’s life. But you, on your side, must make up your mind to be absolutely truthful with me—eh?”