gesture he intercepted the
passer-by. Francis found himself standing side by side with the man for
whose life he had pleaded that afternoon, within a few feet of the woman
whose terrible story seemed to have poisoned the very atmosphere he
breathed, to have shown him a new horror in life, to have temporarily,
at any rate, undermined every joy and ambition he possessed.

"Mr. Ledsam," Hilditch said, speaking with quiet dignity, "I hope that
you will forgive the liberty I take in speaking to you here. I looked
for you the moment I was free this afternoon, but found that you had
left the Court. I owe you my good name, probably my life. Thanks are
poor things but they must be spoken."

"You owe me nothing at all," Francis replied, in a tone which even he
found harsh. "I had a brief before me and a cause to plead. It was a
chapter out of my daily work."

"That work can be well done or ill," the other reminded him gently.
"In your case, my presence here proves how well it was done. I wish to
present you to my wife, who shares my gratitude."

Francis bowed to the woman, who now, at her husband's words, raised her
eyes. For the first time he saw her smile. It seemed to him that the
effort made her less beautiful.

"Your pleading was very wonderful, Mr. Ledsam," she said, a very subtle
note of mockery faintly apparent in her tone. "We poor mortals find
it difficult to understand that with you all that show of passionate
earnestness is merely--what did you call it?--a chapter in your day's
work? It is a great gift to be able to argue from the brain and plead as
though from the heart."

"We will not detain Mr. Ledsam," Oliver Hilditch interposed, a little
hastily. "He perhaps does not care to be addressed in public by a client
who still carries with him the atmosphere of the prison. My wife and I
wondered, Mr. Ledsam, whether you would be good enough to dine with us
one night. I think I could interest you by telling you more about
my case than you know at present, and it would give us a further
opportunity, and a more seemly one, for expressing our gratitude."

Francis had recovered himself by this time. He was after all a man of
parts, and though he still had the feeling that he had been through one
of the most momentous days of his life, his savoir faire was making its
inevitable reappearance. He knew very well that the idea of that dinner
would be horrible to him. He also knew that he would willingly cancel
every engag