sir, good legs indeed, though you need not embarrass the child by quizzing them, Mister Whyllie."
Mr. Whyllie looked away awkwardly and, raising his hat, inquired whether Imogene wished to speak to them.
"I have come to speak to you, sir, on most grave business."
"To do with one of my cases, I suppose," he answered, by way of explanation, to his wife, for he had no wish that she should suspect him of having any dealings with such a handsome wench.
"Which case?" snapped the suspicious little wife.
"Well, really, now, I cannot say off hand," faltered the lawyer. "Probably the Appledore land claims, but I wouldn't swear to it, for it could quite equally be something to do with the Canver squabble. In fact, more likely to be, quite likely to be. Probably is, probably is. It might so very well be that, mightn't it, my love?"
"Yes, and it might not be that," returned his wife with scorn. "Why don't you ask the girl if you want to know, instead of standing there like the town idiot? Being a lawyer, I naturally suppose you to have a tongue in your head."
"I have, my dear," exclaimed the lawyer desperately, "but dang it, ma'am, you will not let me wag it."
"You blasphemous horror!" screamed the lady, sweeping past him into the house, for the serving-maid was holding the front door open for them.
