"Miss Grey has, then, I understand, proposed that you shall marry her on the condition that she settles £2,000 a year on you, while you pledge yourself never to seek to know her real name or anything more about her. And you have accepted the conditions. Am I right?"
"Quite right, sir."
"Now, my dear Mr. Brooke, if I were at your age, and if I were situated as you were when the offer was made to you, I am perfectly sure that I should have done exactly as you have done. But, if I had done so, I am sure that I should afterward have been the most miserable man alive. Two thousand a year is a fine income, but believe me, that money, like everything else, can be bought too dearly. In this case you are surrendering yourself to a bondage which, at present, you can hardly understand. That is a consideration I wish most strongly to impress upon you, and I ask you to reflect most seriously upon it. On the other hand, there is the question, What are you to do if this arrangement is broken off? It would be most cruel and unjust, it would be absurd, to ask you to break off the engagement unless you were otherwise provided for. That is a matter I have carefully considered with Miss Grey; and, as she is solely responsible for the engagement, I am authorized by her to say that if you wish to do that which I most strongly advise you for your own happiness to do, namely, to abandon the engagement, she will acknowledge the obligation that her conduct has imposed upon her by giving me £2,000 to hand over to you. Now, think well of the two sides of the question. On the one hand you are doomed to a life of celibacy—married to a woman whom you can never meet again. Wealthy, it is true; but whether wealth would be worth having under such circumstances, it is for you, from your knowledge of yourself, to say. On the other hand, with youth, and health, and brains, you start in the race of life with a clear £2,000. I have myself no interest in the matter. You are a stranger to me; Miss Grey is merely a client. But I should be false to my duty, and unworthy of my position as a solicitor, if I did not warn you of the probable consequences of acting rashly in this matter."
He paused as if to invite some comment from me on what he had said. I must have looked perplexed, for I had, indeed, a question to ask him, a question that was suggested in some way, I do not know why, by his remarks; but how to put it into words I did not know. Seeing that I was confused, and thinking, probably, that I was weighing the issue he had put to me, he continued:
"Perhaps you would like to consider the matter. I shall be here every day between ten and six, and shall be very happy to see you at any time you like to look in. Do not stand on any ceremony about coming to see me. It will give me the greatest pleasure to discuss the matter with you, and, as far as I can, advise you. Do you know the motto that Von Moltke, the great Prussian general, took for his crest after the Franco-German war?"
"No, sir."
"Well, it is four German words, 'Erst wagen, denn tragen.' Literally it means, 'First think, then act,' or, to use our own slang phrase, 'Look before you leap.' Take my advice and follow the motto of the Prussian general."
"Mr. Chambers," I said, "there is a question I should like to ask you, and yet I do not know how to express it."
"When the Roman Catholics go to confession," said Mr. Chambers, "they say what they please to their confessor, because they know that they are protected by what is termed the seal of confession, that is, by the obligation of the priest never, under any circumstances, to divulge what has passed during confession. The obligation of a solicitor to his client is exactly similar. So far I have been acting in this matter as solicitor to both sides. You may regard yourself as a client of mine at present; and you may speak to me with the perfect assurance that anything you may say is as secret as if it were whispered into the tomb."
"It is difficult," I replied, "to ask the question so as not to be misunderstood, or, at least, so as not to run the risk of giving offense. Yet, acting as I am in the dark, I think I am entitled to ask it. You and I, sir, are, as you have said, strangers. Miss Grey is so much a stranger to me that I have never clearly seen her face. For Miss Grey I have the most profound respect. That I have the most implicit confidence in you, the fact of my putting the question to you will show. Speaking, then, as one who knows nothing, to you who know all, or at the least much more than I do, I ask you, as man to man, this question: