a wonderful record of successes. He was a man of
scrupulous financial integrity--universally desired as a trustee--an
honorable gentleman, a leader at the bar. It was hard to see how Lydia
could be in better hands. He might not have been willing to undertake
her case but for the fact that he had been her father's lawyer and was
her trustee. He had a thorough familiarity, attained through years of
conflict over finances, with all the problems of his client's
disposition. He knew, for instance, that she would be absolutely
truthful with him, a knowledge a lawyer so rarely has in regard to his
clients. He knew, too, that she might carry this quality into the
witness chair and might ruin her own case with the jury. He was a man
accustomed to being listened to, and he was being listened to now.

Eleanor sat down, saying she was sorry if she interrupted them. She
didn't. Wiley drew her in and made her feel one of the conference.

"I had really finished what I was saying," he added.

"I only wanted to know if the situation were serious," said Eleanor.

"Serious, Miss Bellington?" Wiley looked at her seriously. "To kill a
human being while violating the law?"

"Mr. Wiley considers it entirely a question of how the case is managed,"
said Lydia. There was not a trace of amusement in her tone or her
expression.

"To be absolutely candid," Wiley continued, "and Lydia tells me she
wants the facts, I should say that if juries were normal, impartial,
unemotional people Lydia would be found guilty of manslaughter in the
second degree--on her own story. Fortunately, however, the collective
intelligence of a jury is low; and skillfully managed, the case of a
beautiful young orphan may be made very appealing, very pathetic."

"Pathos has never been my strong point," observed Lydia.

"The great danger is her own attitude," said Miss Bennett to Eleanor.
"She doesn't seem to care whether she's convicted or not."

Lydia moved her shoulders with a gesture that confirmed Miss Bennett's
impression, and then suddenly turned.

"I don't believe you want me for a few minutes, Mr. Wiley. I want to
speak to Eleanor."

She dragged her friend away with her to her own little sitting room
upstairs. Here her calm disappeared.

"Aren't lawyers terrible, Eleanor? Here I am--I've killed a man! Why
shouldn't I go to prison? I'm not quixotic. I didn't want to be
convicted, but Wiley shocks me, assuming that I can't be because I'm a
woman and rich