if
it were possible. If it were possible! But then it was not possible
that he himself could have a hand in such a matter. Could Crabwitz do
it? No; he thought not. And then, at this moment, he was not certain
that he could depend on Crabwitz.

And why should he trouble himself in this way? Mr. Furnival was a
man loyal to his friends at heart. Had Lady Mason been a man, and had
he pulled that man through great difficulties in early life, he
would have been loyally desirous of carrying him through the same or
similar difficulties at any after period. In that cause which he had
once battled he was always ready to do battle, without reference to
any professional consideration of triumph or profit. It was to this
feeling of loyalty that he had owed much of his success in life. And
in such a case as this it may be supposed that that feeling would be
strong. But then such a feeling presumed a case in which he could
sympathise--in which he could believe. Would it be well that he
should allow himself to feel the same interest in this case, to
maintain respecting it the same personal anxiety, if he ceased to
believe in it? He did ask himself the question, and he finally
answered it in the affirmative. He had beaten Joseph Mason once in a
good stand-up fight; and having done so, having thus made the matter
his own, it was necessary to his comfort that he should beat him
again, if another fight were to be fought. Lady Mason was his client,
and all the associations of his life taught him to be true to her as
such.

And as we are thus searching into his innermost heart we must say
more than this. Mrs. Furnival perhaps had no sufficient grounds for
those terrible fears of hers; but nevertheless the mistress of Orley
Farm was very comely in the eyes of the lawyer. Her eyes, when full
of tears, were very bright, and her hand, as it lay in his, was very
soft. He laid out for himself no scheme of wickedness with reference
to her; he purposely entertained no thoughts which he knew to be
wrong; but, nevertheless, he did feel that he liked to have her by
him, that he liked to be her adviser and friend, that he liked to
wipe the tears from those eyes--not by a material handkerchief from
his pocket, but by immaterial manly sympathy from his bosom; and that
he liked also to feel the pressure of that hand. Mrs. Furnival had
become solid, and heavy, and red; and though he himself was solid,
and heavy, and red also--more so, indeed, in proport