“Yes. The papers made many errors in their statements. I’m not a ‘poor young lawyer’ as they said. My mother is comfortably off, and gives me an ample allowance.”
“Yes?”
“And what is more,” continued Peter, “while they were right in saying that I paid some of the expenses of the case, yet I was more than repaid by my fees in some civil suits I brought for the relatives of the children, which we settled very advantageously.”
“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Stirling?” said Miss De Voe. “I should like to hear about the cases.”
Peter began a very simple narrative of the matter. But Miss De Voe interjected questions or suppositions here and there, which led to other explanations, and before Peter had finished, he had told not merely the history of the cases, but much else. His mention of the two Dooley children had brought out the fact of their visit to his mother, and this had explained incidentally her position in the world. The settlement of the cases involved the story of the visit to the brewer’s home, and Peter, to justify his action, added his interview with his pastor, Peter’s connection with the case compelled him to speak of his evenings in the “angle,” and the solitary life that had sent him there. Afterwards, Peter was rather surprised at how much he had told. He did not realize that a woman with tact and experience can, without making it evident, lead a man to tell nearly anything and everything he knows, if she is so minded. If women ever really take to the bar seriously, may Providence protect the average being in trousers, when on the witness stand.
As Peter talked, a clock struck. Stopping short, he rose. “I must ask your pardon,” he said. “I had no idea I had taken so much of your time.” Then putting his hand in his pocket, he produced the check. “You see that I have made a very good thing out of the whole matter and do not need this.”
“One moment, Mr. Stirling,” said the lady, still sitting. “Can you spare the time to lunch with me? We will sit down at once, and you shall be free to go whenever you wish.”
Peter hesitated. He knew that he had the time, and it did not seem easy to refuse without giving an excuse, which he did not have. Yet he did not feel that he had the right to accept an invitation which he had perhaps necessitated by his long call.
“Thank you,” said his hostess, before he had been able to frame an answer. “May I trouble you to pull that bell?”
Peter pulled the bell, and coming back, tendered the check rather awkwardly to Miss De Voe. She, however, was looking towards a doorway, which the next moment was darkened by the butler.