perhaps owing to our no longer being hunched with others on those
unfeeling benches. It is not because he is without a wig, for we saw
him, on the occasion to which we are so guardedly referring, both in a
wig and out of it; he passed behind a screen without it, and immediately
(as quickly as we write) popped out in it, giving it a finishing touch
rather like the butler's wriggle to his coat as he goes to the door.
There are the two kinds of learned brothers, those who use the screen,
and those who (so far as the jury knows) sleep in their wigs. The latter
are the swells, and include the judges; whom, however, we have seen in
the public thoroughfares without their wigs, a horrible sight that has
doubtless led many an onlooker to crime.

Mr. Torrance, then, is no great luminary; indeed, when we accompany him
to his house, as we must, in order to set our scene properly, we find
that it is quite a suburban affair, only one servant kept, and her niece
engaged twice a week to crawl about the floors. There is no fire in the
drawing-room, so the family remain on after dinner in the dining-room,
which rather gives them away. There is really no one in the room but
Roger. That is the truth of it, though to the unseeing eye all the
family are there except Roger. They consist of Mr., Mrs., and Miss
Torrance. Mr. Torrance is enjoying his evening paper and a cigar, and
every line of him is insisting stubbornly that nothing unusual is
happening in the house. In the home circle (and now that we think of it,
even in court) he has the reputation of being a somewhat sarcastic
gentleman; he must be dogged, too, otherwise he would have ceased long
ago to be sarcastic to his wife, on whom wit falls like pellets on
sandbags; all the dents they make are dimples.

Mrs. Torrance is at present exquisitely employed; she is listening to
Roger's step overhead. You, know what a delightful step the boy has. And