Geoffrey nodded.  “That’s it!” he said, eagerly.

“My experience, Mr. Delamayn, is that any single man, in Scotland, may marry any single woman, at any time, and under any circumstances.  In short, after thirty years’ practice as a lawyer, I don’t know what is not a marriage in Scotland.”

“In plain English,” said Geoffrey, “you mean she’s his wife?”

In spite of his cunning; in spite of his self-command, his eyes brightened as he said those words.  And the tone in which he spoke—­though too carefully guarded to be a tone of triumph—­was, to a fine ear, unmistakably a tone of relief.

Neither the look nor the tone was lost on Sir Patrick.

His first suspicion, when he sat down to the conference, had been the obvious suspicion that, in speaking of “his friend,” Geoffrey was speaking of himself.  But, like all lawyers, he habitually distrusted first impressions, his own included.  His object, thus far, had been to solve the problem of Geoffrey’s true position and Geoffrey’s real motive.  He had set the snare accordingly, and had caught his bird.

It was now plain to his mind—­first, that this man who was consulting him, was, in all probability, really speaking of the case of another person:  secondly, that he had an interest (of what nature it was impossible yet to say) in satisfying his own mind that “his friend” was, by the law of Scotland, indisputably a married man.  Having penetrated to that extent the secret which Geoffrey was concealing from him, he abandoned the hope of making any further advance at that present sitting.  The next question to clear up in the investigation, was the question of who the anonymous “lady” might be.  And the next discovery to make was, whether “the lady” could, or could not, be identified with Anne Silvester.  Pending the inevitable delay in reaching that result, the straight course was (in Sir Patrick’s present state of uncertainty) the only course to follow in laying down the law.  He at once took the question of the marriage in hand—­with no concealment whatever, as to the legal bearings of it, from the client who was consulting him.

“Don’t rush to conclusions, Mr. Delamayn,” he said.  “I have only told you what my general experience is thus far.  My professional opinion on the special case of your friend has not been given yet.”

Geoffrey’s face clouded again.  Sir Patrick carefully noted the new change in it.

“The law of Scotland,” he went on, “so far as it relates to Irregular Marriages, is an outrage on common decency and common-sense.  If you think my language in thus describing it too strong—­I can refer you to the language of a judicial authority.  Lord Deas delivered a recent judgment of marriage in Scotland, from the bench, in these words:  ’Consent makes marriage.  No form or ceremony, civil or religious; no notice before, or publication after; no cohabitation, no writing, no witnesses even,