"Your pleading was very wonderful, Mr. Ledsam," she said, a very
subtle note of mockery faintly apparent in her tone. "We poor
mortals find it difficult to understand that with you all that
show of passionate earnestness is merely--what did you call it?
--a chapter in your day's work? It is a great gift to be able
to argue from the brain and plead as though from the heart."

"We will not detain Mr. Ledsam," Oliver Hilditch interposed, a
little hastily. "He perhaps does not care to be addressed in
public by a client who still carries with him the atmosphere of
the prison. My wife and I wondered, Mr. Ledsam, whether you
would be good enough to dine with us one night. I think I could
interest you by telling you more about my case than you know at
present, and it would give us a further opportunity, and a more
seemly one, for expressing our gratitude."

Francis had recovered himself by this time. He was after all a
man of parts, and though he still had the feeling that he had
been through one of the most momentous days of his life, his
savoir faire was making its inevitable reappearance. He knew
very well that the idea of that dinner would be horrible to him.
He also knew that he would willingly cancel every engagement he
had rather than miss it.

"You are very kind," he murmured.

"Are we fortunate enough to find you disengaged," Hilditch
suggested, "to-morrow evening?"

"I am quite free," was the ready response.