“I am not a man, and, therefore, I come to a man,” she replied, “and ask the aid of his judgment. I go by a very straight road to conclusions; but I want the light of your reason upon these conclusions.”
“I am not a lawyer as you are aware, Constance—only a doctor.”
“You are a man with a heart and common sense,” she answered, with just a little shade of rebuke in her tones, “and as God has put in your way a wretched human soul that may be lost, unless you stretch forth a saving hand, is there any room for question as to duty? There is none, my husband! Squire Floyd believes his daughter guilty; and while he rests in this conclusion, he will not aid her in anything that points to exposure and disgrace. She must, therefore, if a vigorous defence is undertaken, look elsewhere for aid and comfort.”
I began to see the matter a little clearer.
“Mr. Wallingford is the best man I know.”
“Mr. Wallingford!” I thought Constance would have looked me through.
“Mr. Wallingford!” she repeated, still gazing steadily into my face. “Are you jesting?”
“No,” I replied calmly. “In a case that involves so much, she wants a wise and good defender; and I do not know of any man upon whom she could so thoroughly rely.”
Constance dropped her eyes to the floor.
“It would not do,” she said, after some moments.