ed in
the section of _Aldrich on Quasi Contracts_, which my honorable opponent
refers to, and the case before the Court."

Then the other judges spoke up. They knew the cases, it appeared, and
didn't want to look at the book, but it was clear that they were
skeptical about the distinction. For five minutes the formal argument
was lost in swift flashing phrases in which everybody took a part.
Rodney was defending himself against them all. And Rose, in an agony
because she couldn't understand it, was reminded, grotesquely enough, of
the Gentleman of France, or some other of the sword-and-cloak heroes of
her girlhood, defending the head of the stairway against the
simultaneous assault of half a dozen enemies. And then suddenly it was
over. The judges settled back again, the argument went on.

At half past four, the oldest judge, who sat in the middle, interrupted
again to tell Rodney, with what seemed to Rose brutally bad manners,
what time it was.

"If you can finish your argument in fifteen minutes, Mr. Aldrich, we'll
hear you out. If it's going to take longer than that, the Court will
adjourn till to-morrow morning."

"I don't think I shall want more than fifteen minutes," said Rodney, and
he went on again.

And, presently, he just stopped talking and began stacking up his notes.
The oldest judge mumbled something, everybody stood up and the three
stiff formidable figures filed out by a side door. It was all over.

But nothing had happened!

Rose had been looking forward, you see, to a driving finish; to a
dramatic summoning of reserves, a mighty onslaught. And at the end of
it, as from the umpire at a ball game, to a decision. She had expected
to leave the court room in the blissful knowledge of Rodney's victory or
the tragic acceptance of his defeat. In her surprise over the failure of
this climax to materialize, she almost neglected to make her escape
before he discovered her there.

One practical advantage she had gained out of what was, on the whole, a
rather unsatisfactory afternoon. When she had gone home and changed into
the sort of frock she thought he'd like and come down-stairs in it in
answer to his shouted greeting from the lower hall, she didn't say, as
otherwise she would have done, "How did it come out, Roddy? Did you
win?"

In the light of her newly-acquired knowledge, she could see how a
question of that sort would irritate him. Instead of that, she said:
"You dear old boy, how dog tired yo