"I met you once at a large evening party. It was at old Judge Tartar's," she ran on.
"Indeed!" I answered, not remembering it.
"It was before I married Sir Ralph. You came in with your relative, Serjeant Stillingfar. What a charming man he is! I heard you tell someone you had just come down from Oxford. Won't you act for me, Mr. Strange?"
"Indeed, it does not lie in my power."
"Well, I did not think a gentleman"—with another stress upon the word—"would have refused to act on my behalf."
"Lady Clavering must perceive that I have no alternative."
"Who is Edmund Clavering that he should be preferred to me?" she demanded with some vehemence.
"Nay, Lady Clavering, circumstances compel the preference."
A silence ensued, and I glanced at my watch—the lawyer's hint. She did not take it.
"Can you tell me whether, amidst the papers Mr. Brightman held belonging to Sir Ralph, there are any letters of mine?"