conceal nothing.'

'You tell him,' said Michael, feeling, apparently, that he had done his
share. 'My friend will tell you all about it,' he added to Gideon, with
a yawn. 'Excuse my closing my eyes a moment; I've been sitting up with a
sick friend.'

Pitman gazed blankly about the room; rage and despair seethed in his
innocent spirit; thoughts of flight, thoughts even of suicide, came and
went before him; and still the barrister patiently waited, and still the
artist groped in vain for any form of words, however insignificant.

'It's a breach of promise case,' he said at last, in a low voice. 'I--I
am threatened with a breach of promise case.' Here, in desperate quest
of inspiration, he made a clutch at his beard; his fingers closed upon
the unfamiliar smoothness of a shaven chin; and with that, hope and
courage (if such expressions could ever have been appropriate in the
case of Pitman) conjointly fled. He shook Michael roughly. 'Wake up!'
he cried, with genuine irritation in his tones. 'I cannot do it, and you
know I can't.'

'You must excuse my friend,' said Michael; 'he's no hand as a narrator
of stirring incident. The case is simple,' he went on. 'My friend is
a man of very strong passions, and accustomed to a simple, patriarchal
style of life. You see the thing from here: unfortunate visit to Europe,
followed by unfortunate acquaintance with sham foreign count, who has a
lovely daughter. Mr Thomas was quite carried away; he proposed, he was
accepted, and he wrote--wrote in a style which I am sure he must
regret today. If these letters are produced in court, sir, Mr Thomas's
character is gone.'