And in the course of the meal, His Ludship spoke warmly to Mr. Williams of the bright prospects that lay before him if he would drop those foolish Suffragette cases.

David returned to London with Rossiter and remained silent all the way.  His companion believed him to be very tired, and refrained from provoking conversation, but surrounded him with a quiet, fatherly care.  Arrived at King’s Cross Rossiter said:  “Don’t go on to your chambers.  My motor’s here.  It can take your luggage on with mine to Portland Place.  You can have a wash and a rest and a talk when you’re rested; and after we’ve dined and talked the motor shall come round and take you back to Fig Tree Court.”

Mrs. Rossiter was there to greet them, and whilst David went to wash and rest and prepare himself for dinner, she chirrupped over her big husband, and asked endless and sometimes pointless questions about the trial and the verdict.  “Did Michael believe she really had done it?  She, for one, could believe anything about a woman who obviously dyed her hair and improved her eyebrows. (Of course Michael said he didn’t, or the questions, as to why, how, when might have gone on for hours).  Was Mr. Williams’s defence of Arbella so very wonderful as the evening papers said?  Why could he not have gone straight home and rested there?  It would have been so much nicer to have had Mike all to herself on his return, and not have this tiresome, melancholy young man spending the evening with them ... really some people had no tact ... could not see they were de trop.  Why didn’t Mr. Williams marry some nice girl and make a home for himself?  Not well enough off?  Rubbish!  She had known plenty young couples marry and live very happily on Two hundred and fifty a year, and Mr. Williams must surely be earning that?  And if he must always be dining out and spending the evening with other people, why did he not make himself more ‘general?’ Not always be absorbed in her husband.  Of course she understood that while Arbella’s fate hung in the balance they had to study the case together and have long confabulations over poisons in the Lab’rat’ry...!” (This last detestable word was a great worry to Mrs. Rossiter.  Sometimes she succeeded in suppressing as many vowels as possible; at others she felt impelled to give them fuller values and call it “laboratorry.”) And so on, for an hour or so till dinner was announced.

David sat silent all through this meal, under Mrs. Rossiter’s mixture of mirthless badinage:  “We shall have you now proposing to Lady Shillito after saving her life!  I expect her husband won’t have altered his will as she didn’t poison him, and she must have had quite thirty thousand pounds settled on her....  They do say however she’s a great flirt...”  Indiscreet questions:  “How much will you make out of this case?  You don’t know?  I thought barristers had all that marked on their briefs?  And didn’t