ious
annals of our courts of justice. Lady Shillito fainted and the nurse
fussed, and the Judge in his private room sent for Mr. Williams and
complimented him handsomely on his magnificent conduct of the case.
"Of course she _meant_ to poison him; but I quite agree with the
Jury, she didn't. He saved her the trouble. Now I suppose she'll
marry again. Well! I pity her next husband. Come and have lunch with
me."

And in the course of the meal, His Ludship spoke warmly to Mr.
Williams of the bright prospects that lay before him if he would
drop those foolish Suffragette cases.

David returned to London with Rossiter and remained silent all the
way. His companion believed him to be very tired, and refrained from
provoking conversation, but surrounded him with a quiet, fatherly
care. Arrived at King's Cross Rossiter said: "Don't go on to your
chambers. My motor's here. It can take your luggage on with mine to
Portland Place. You can have a wash and a rest and a talk when
you're rested; and after we've dined and talked the motor shall come
round and take you back to Fig Tree Court."

Mrs. Rossiter was there to greet them, and whilst David went to wash
and rest and prepare himself for dinner, she chirrupped over her
big husband, and asked endless and sometimes pointless questions
about the trial and the verdict. "Did Michael believe she really
_had_ done it? She, for one, could believe anything about a woman
who obviously dyed her hair and improved her eyebrows. (Of course
Michael said he didn't, or the questions, as to why, how, when might
have gone on for hours). Was Mr. Williams's defence of Arbella so
very wonderful as the evening papers said? Why could he not have
gone straight home and rested _there_? It would have been so much
nicer to have had Mike all to herself on his return, and not have
this tiresome, melancholy young man spending the evening with them
... really _some_ people had _no_ tact ... could _not_ see they were
_de trop_. Why didn't Mr. Williams marry some nice girl and make a
home for himself? Not well enough off? Rubbish! She had known plenty
young couples marry and live very happily on Two hundred and fifty a
year, and Mr. Williams must surely be earning that? And if he must
always be dining out and spending the evening with other people, why
did he not make himself more 'general?' Not _always_ be absorbed in
her husband. Of course she understood that while Arbella's fate hung
in the balance they h