sound of that hollow big word.  The irreverent imp of her humour came to her relief by calling forth the Twelve, in the tone of the clerk of the Court, and they answered to their names of trades and crafts after the manner of Titania’s elves, and were questioned as to their fitness, by education, habits, enlightenment, to pronounce decisively upon the case in dispute, the case being plainly stated.  They replied, that the long habit of dealing with scales enabled them to weigh the value of evidence the most delicate.  Moreover, they were Englishmen, and anything short of downright bullet facts went to favour the woman.  For thus we light the balance of legal injustice toward the sex:  we conveniently wink, ma’am.  A rough, old-fashioned way for us!  Is it a Breach of Promise?—­She may reckon on her damages:  we have daughters of our own.  Is it a suit for Divorce?—­Well, we have wives of our own, and we can lash, or we can spare; that’s as it may be; but we’ll keep the couple tied, let ’em hate as they like, if they can’t furnish pork-butchers’ reasons for sundering; because the man makes the money in this country.—­My goodness! what a funny people, sir!—­It ’s our way of holding the balance, ma’am.—­But would it not be better to rectify the law and the social system, dear sir?—­Why, ma’am, we find it comfortabler to take cases as they come, in the style of our fathers.—­But don’t you see, my good man, that you are offering scapegoats for the comfort of the majority?—­Well, ma’am, there always were scapegoats, and always will be; we find it comes round pretty square in the end.

’And I may be the scapegoat, Emmy!  It is perfectly possible.  The grocer, the pork-butcher, drysalter, stationer, tea-merchant, et caetera —­they sit on me.  I have studied the faces of the juries, and Mr. Braddock tells me of their composition.  And he admits that they do justice roughly—­a rough and tumble country! to quote him—­though he says they are honest in intention.’

‘More shame to the man who drags you before them—­if he persists!’ Emma rejoined.

‘He will.  I know him.  I would not have him draw back now,’ said Diana, catching her breath.  ’And, dearest, do not abuse him; for if you do, you set me imagining guiltiness.  Oh, heaven!—­suppose me publicly pardoned!  No, I have kinder feelings when we stand opposed.  It is odd, and rather frets my conscience, to think of the little resentment I feel.  Hardly any!  He has not cause to like his wife.  I can own it, and I am sorry for him, heartily.  No two have ever come together so naturally antagonistic as we two.  We walked a dozen steps in stupefied union, and hit upon crossways.  From that moment it was tug and tug; he me, I him.  By resisting, I made him a tyrant; and he, by insisting, made me a rebel.  And he was the maddest of tyrants—­a weak one.  My dear, he was also a double-dealer.  Or no, perhaps not in design.  He was moved at one time by his interests; at another by his idea of his honour.  He took what I could get for him, and then turned and drubbed me for getting it.’