" he said. "Worth while!--when your son's future may depend
on the judgment you form."

The sharpness of his tone called the red also to Lady Lucy's cheek.

"Can anything that may be said now alter the irrevocable?" she asked, in
protest.

"It cannot bring the dead to life; but if you are really more
influenced in this matter by the heinousness of the crime itself, by the
moral infection, so to speak--that may spring from any kinship with
Juliet Sparling or inheritance from her--than by any dread of social
disgrace or disadvantage--if that be true!--then for Oliver's sake--for
that poor child's sake--you _ought_ to listen to me! There, I can meet
you--there, I have much to say."

He looked at her earnestly. The slight, involuntary changes of
expression in Lady Lucy, as he was speaking, made him say to himself:
"She is _not_ indifferent to the social stigma--she deceives herself!"
But he made no sign of his perception; he held her to her word.

She paused, in evident hesitation, saying at last, with some coldness:

"If you wish it, Sir James, of course I am quite ready to listen. I
desire to do nothing harshly."

"I will not keep you long."

Bending forward, his hands on his knees, his eyes upon the ground, he
thought a moment. When he began to speak, it was in a quiet and
perfectly colorless tone.

"I knew Juliet Wentworth first--when she was seventeen. I was on the
Midland Circuit, and went down to the Milchester Assizes. Her father was
High Sheriff, and asked me, with other barristers of the Circuit, not
only to his official dinner in the county town, but to luncheon at his
house, a mile or two away. There I saw Miss Wentworth. She made a deep
impression on me. After the Assizes were over, I stayed at her father's
house and in the neighborhood. Within a month I proposed to her. She
refused me. I merely mention these circumstances for the sake of
reporting my first impressions of her character. She was very young, and
of an extraordinarily nervous and sensitive organization. She used to
remind me of Horace's image of the young fawn trembling and starting in
the mountain paths at the rustling of a leaf or the movement of a
lizard. I felt then that her life might very well be a tragedy, and I
passionately desired to be able to protect and help her. However, she
would have nothing to do with me, and after a little while I lost sight
of her. I did happen to hear that her father, having lost his first
wife, had m