- ject as his mind conceived her. She would be
forty, with her hair turning gray. She would be a plain, drab, slightly elusive figure, cowed a little by life, the privations she had undergone, and the ignominy and terror of her situation. The positive, the actual would be to seek in her; she would offer no target for too facile sympathies. Her inaccessibility to all suggestions of romance or of picturesqueness would lend to her predicament that extreme peril which it would be her advocate's chief glory to surmount. All the same, he desired no ghoul, but a human being. She might be visibly stained, buffeted, common, broken, devoid of a meaning to eyes that were unacquainted with the poetry of misfortune, the irony of blunt truths; yet let a few rags of her sex remain, let her be capable of humiliation, of being rendered in piteous fear.
At the offices of Messrs. Whitcomb and Whitcomb in Chancery Lane he was informed that the senior partner was anxiously awaiting him.
"Ah, here you are at last!" exclaimed the solicitor, rising to receive him. "I thought you would have been round before."
"I suppose you only honor a silk gown with a consultation in his own chambers?" said Northcote.
"Chambers, you call them! Well, did we not hold it last night?"
"One cannot very well hold a consultation with one's client before one receives one's brief."
"What dignity!"
"Is it not at least half the stock in trade of mediocrity?"
