“That is very cool of Ronald,” observed the elder young lady.  “Perhaps his scheme doesn’t fit in with yours, Mr. Spargo?  Pray don’t—­”

“Oh, it’s all right!” said Spargo, feeling himself uncommonly stupid.  “I’ve nothing to do.  But—­where did Mr. Breton say you wished to be taken?”

“Into the gallery of number seven court,” said the younger girl promptly.  “Round this corner—­I think I know the way.”

Spargo, still marvelling at the rapidity with which affairs were moving that morning, bestirred himself to act as cicerone, and presently led the two young ladies to the very front of one of those public galleries from which idlers and specially-interested spectators may see and hear the proceedings which obtain in the badly-ventilated, ill-lighted tanks wherein justice is dispensed at the Law Courts.  There was no one else in that gallery; the attendant in the corridor outside seemed to be vastly amazed that any one should wish to enter it, and he presently opened the door, beckoned to Spargo, and came half-way down the stairs to meet him.

“Nothing much going on here this morning,” he whispered behind a raised hand.  “But there’s a nice breach case in number five—­get you three good seats there if you like.”

Spargo declined this tempting offer, and went back to his charges.  He had decided by that time that Miss Aylmore was about twenty-three, and her sister about eighteen; he also thought that young Breton was a lucky dog to be in possession of such a charming future wife and an equally charming sister-in-law.  And he dropped into a seat at Miss Jessie Aylmore’s side, and looked around him as if he were much awed by his surroundings.

“I suppose one can talk until the judge enters?” he whispered.  “Is this really Mr. Breton’s first case?”

“His very first—­all on his own responsibility, any way,” replied Spargo’s companion, smiling.  “And he’s very nervous—­and so’s my sister.  Aren’t you, now, Evelyn?”

Evelyn Aylmore looked at Spargo, and smiled quietly.

“I suppose one’s always nervous about first appearances,” she said.  “However, I think Ronald’s got plenty of confidence, and, as he says, it’s not much of a case:  it isn’t even a jury case.  I’m afraid you’ll find it dull, Mr. Spargo—­it’s only something about a promissory note.”

“Oh, I’m all right, thank you,” replied Spargo, unconsciously falling back on a favourite formula.  “I always like to hear lawyers—­they manage to say such a lot about—­about—­”

“About nothing,” said Jessie Aylmore.  “But there—­so do gentlemen who write for the papers, don’t they?”

Spargo was about to admit that there was a good deal to be said on that point when Miss Aylmore suddenly drew her sister’s attention to a man who had just entered the well of the court.

“Look, Jessie!” she observed.  “There’s Mr. Elphick!”