I was the first to speak in answer to this appeal.  My own course was plain to me.  It is the great beauty of the Law that it can dispute any human statement, made under any circumstances, and reduced to any form.  If I had felt professionally called upon to set up a case against Sir Percival Glyde, on the strength of his own explanation, I could have done so beyond all doubt.  But my duty did not lie in this direction—­my function was of the purely judicial kind.  I was to weigh the explanation we had just heard, to allow all due force to the high reputation of the gentleman who offered it, and to decide honestly whether the probabilities, on Sir Percival’s own showing, were plainly with him, or plainly against him.  My own conviction was that they were plainly with him, and I accordingly declared that his explanation was, to my mind, unquestionably a satisfactory one.

Miss Halcombe, after looking at me very earnestly, said a few words, on her side, to the same effect—­with a certain hesitation of manner, however, which the circumstances did not seem to me to warrant.  I am unable to say, positively, whether Sir Percival noticed this or not.  My opinion is that he did, seeing that he pointedly resumed the subject, although he might now, with all propriety, have allowed it to drop.

“If my plain statement of facts had only been addressed to Mr. Gilmore,” he said, “I should consider any further reference to this unhappy matter as unnecessary.  I may fairly expect Mr. Gilmore, as a gentleman, to believe me on my word, and when he has done me that justice, all discussion of the subject between us has come to an end.  But my position with a lady is not the same.  I owe to her—­what I would concede to no man alive—­a proof of the truth of my assertion.  You cannot ask for that proof, Miss Halcombe, and it is therefore my duty to you, and still more to Miss Fairlie, to offer it.  May I beg that you will write at once to the mother of this unfortunate woman—­to Mrs. Catherick—­to ask for her testimony in support of the explanation which I have just offered to you.”

I saw Miss Halcombe change colour, and look a little uneasy.  Sir Percival’s suggestion, politely as it was expressed, appeared to her, as it appeared to me, to point very delicately at the hesitation which her manner had betrayed a moment or two since.

“I hope, Sir Percival, you don’t do me the injustice to suppose that I distrust you,” she said quickly.

“Certainly not, Miss Halcombe.  I make my proposal purely as an act of attention to you.  Will you excuse my obstinacy if I still venture to press it?”

He walked to the writing-table as he spoke, drew a chair to it, and opened the paper case.

“Let me beg you to write the note,” he said, “as a favour to me.  It need not occupy you more than a few minutes.  You have only to ask Mrs. Catherick two questions.  First, if her daughter was placed in the Asylum with her knowledge and approval.  Secondly, if the share I took in the matter was such as to merit the expression of her gratitude towards myself?  Mr. Gilmore’s mind is at ease on this unpleasant subject, and your mind is at ease—­pray set my mind at ease also by writing the note.”