"Would you mind taking a turn in the garden?" asked Geoffrey.

Sir Patrick pointed to his lame foot. "I have had my allowance of
walking this morning," he said. "Let my infirmity excuse me."

Geoffrey looked about him for a substitute for the garden, and led the
way back again toward one of the convenient curtained recesses opening
out of the inner wall of the library. "We shall be private enough here,"
he said.

Sir Patrick made a final effort to escape the proposed conference--an
undisguised effort, this time.

"Pray forgive me, Mr. Delamayn. Are you quite sure that you apply to the
right person, in applying to _me?_"

"You're a Scotch lawyer, ain't you?"

"Certainly."

"And you understand about Scotch marriages--eh?"

Sir Patrick's manner suddenly altered.

"Is _that_ the subject you wish to consult me on?" he asked.

"It's not me. It's my friend."

"Your friend, then?"