While the doctor was speaking, Mrs. Presty was drawing her own conclusions from a close scrutiny of Mr. Sarrazin’s face.

“I am going to make a disagreeable remark,” she announced.  “You look ten years older, sir, than you did when you left us this morning to go to the Court.  Do me a favor—­come to the sideboard.”  The lawyer having obeyed, she poured out a glass of wine.  “There is the remedy,” she resumed, “when something has happened to worry you.”

“‘Worry’ isn’t the right word,” Mr. Sarrazin declared.  “I’m furious!  It’s a most improper thing for a person in my position to say of a person in the Lord President’s position; but I do say it—­he ought to be ashamed of himself.”

“After giving us our Divorce!” Mrs. Presty exclaimed.  “What has he done?”

Mr. Sarrazin repeated what the judge had said of Mrs. Linley.  “In my opinion,” he added, “such language as that is an insult to your daughter.”

“And yet,” Mrs. Presty repeated, “he has given us our Divorce.”  She returned to the sideboard, poured out a second dose of the remedy against worry, and took it herself.  “What sort of character does the Lord President bear?” she asked when she had emptied her glass.

This seemed to be an extraordinary question to put, under the circumstances.  Mr. Sarrazin answered it, however, to the best of his ability.  “An excellent character,” he said—­“that’s the unaccountable part of it.  I hear that he is one of the most careful and considerate men who ever sat on the bench.  Excuse me, Mrs. Presty, I didn’t intend to produce that impression on you.”

“What impression, Mr. Sarrazin?”

“You look as if you thought there was some excuse for the judge.”

“That’s exactly what I do think.”

“You find an excuse for him?”

“I do.”

“What is it, ma’am?”

“Constitutional infirmity, sir.”

“May I ask of what nature?”

“You may.  Gout.”

Mr. Sarrazin thought he understood her at last.  “You know the Lord President,” he said.

Mrs. Presty denied it positively.  “No, Mr. Sarrazin, I don’t get at it in that way.  I merely consult my experience of another official person of high rank, and apply it to the Lord President.  You know that my first husband was a Cabinet Minister?”

“I have heard you say so, Mrs. Presty, on more than one occasion.”

“Very well.  You may also have heard that the late Mr. Norman was a remarkably well-bred man.  In and out of the House of Commons, courteous almost to a fault.  One day I happened to interrupt him when he was absorbed over an Act of Parliament.  Before I could apologize—­I tell you this in the strictest confidence—­he threw the Act of Parliament at my head.  Ninety-nine women out of a hundred would have thrown it back again.  Knowing his constitution, I decided on waiting a day or two.  On the second day, my anticipations were realized.  Mr. Norman’s great toe was as big as my fist and as red as a lobster; he apologized for the Act of Parliament with tears in his eyes.  Suppressed gout in Mr. Norman’s temper; suppressed gout in the Lord President’s temper. He will have a toe; and, if I can prevail upon my daughter to call upon him, I have not the least doubt he will apologize to her with tears in his eyes.”