As fast as a hired carriage could take him, Mr. Sarrazin drove from the court to Mrs. Linley’s lodgings, to tell her that the one great object of securing her right to her child had been achieved.
At the door he was met by Mrs. Presty. She was accompanied by a stranger, whose medical services had been required. Interested professionally in hearing the result of the trial, this gentleman volunteered to communicate the good news to his patient. He had been waiting to administer a composing draught, until the suspense from which Mrs. Linley was suffering might be relieved, and a reasonable hope be entertained that the medicine would produce the right effect. With that explanation he left the room.
While the doctor was speaking, Mrs. Presty was drawing her own conclusions from a close scrutiny of Mr. Sarrazin’s face.
“I am going to make a disagreeable remark,” she announced. “You look ten years older, sir, than you did when you left us this morning to go to the Court. Do me a favor—come to the sideboard.” The lawyer having obeyed, she poured out a glass of wine. “There is the remedy,” she resumed, “when something has happened to worry you.”
“‘Worry’ isn’t the right word,” Mr. Sarrazin declared. “I’m furious! It’s a most improper thing for a person in my position to say of a person in the Lord President’s position; but I do say it—he ought to be ashamed of himself.”
“After giving us our Divorce!” Mrs. Presty exclaimed. “What has he done?”
Mr. Sarrazin repeated what the judge had said of Mrs. Linley. “In my opinion,” he added, “such language as that is an insult to your daughter.”
“And yet,” Mrs. Presty repeated, “he has given us our Divorce.” She returned to the sideboard, poured out a second dose of the remedy against worry, and took it herself. “What sort of character does the Lord President bear?” she asked when she had emptied her glass.
This seemed to be an extraordinary question to put, under the circumstances. Mr. Sarrazin answered it, however, to the best of his ability. “An excellent character,” he said—"that’s the unaccountable part of it. I hear that he is one of the most careful and considerate men who ever sat on the bench. Excuse me, Mrs. Presty, I didn’t intend to produce that impression on you.”