“My dear Kate, don’t worry.”
“How can I help worrying?”
The brown and intelligent face, like the face of a sharp and keen-eyed dog, lit up with a peculiar flash of tenderness for her.
“Come, Kate, I am not a full-blooded optimist, as you know, but your woman’s nature makes the affair seem more serious than it is. Your husband was overworked, and ill at the time, yet these people insisted—I take it—on his assuming the full responsibility of the case. Steel is notoriously an unprincipled rival; as for Brimley, of Cossington, the fellow is known as the most saintly humbug as ever made ginger and water appear as potent as the elixir vitæ. My dear Kate, I know more of the secret squabbles of this town than you do. People have threatened to sue Parker Steel before now—yes, in this very room. If spite and spleen are dragged into the case, I think I can promise our opponents a somewhat stormy season.”
A look of relief melted into Catherine’s eyes. Porteus Carmagee was emphatic, and women look for emphasis in the advice of a man.
“You are doing me good, Porteus.”
“That’s right. The law is a crabbed old spinster, but she can be exhilarating on occasions. Tell me, when did you receive the challenge?”
“This morning, by letter.”
“From whom?”
“Parker Steel and Mr. Cranston.”