had been twice married and had a son who was now nearly a man, still she was his Eleanor. But if it was necessary on Mr. Crawley's behalf, of course it must be done. "Her last address was at Paris, sir; but I think she has gone on to Florence. She has friends there, and she purposes to meet the dean at Venice on his return." Then Mr. Harding turned the table and wrote on a card his daughter's address.
"I suppose Mrs. Arabin must have heard of the affair?" said Mr. Toogood.
"She had not done so when she last wrote. I mentioned it to her the other day, before I knew that she had left Paris. If my letters and her sister's letters have been sent on to her, she must know it now."
Then Mr. Toogood got up to take his leave. "You will excuse me for troubling you, I hope, Mr. Harding."
"Oh, sir, pray do not mention that. It is no trouble, if one could only be of any service."
"One can always try to be of service. In these affairs so much is to be done by rummaging about, as I always call it. There have been many theatrical managers, you know, Mr. Harding, who have usually made up their pieces according to the dresses they have happened to have in their wardrobes."
"Have there, indeed, now? I never should have thought of that."
"And we lawyers have to do the same thing."
"Not with your clothes, Mr. Toogood?"
"Not exactly with our clothes;—but with our information."
"I do not quite understand you, Mr. Toogood."
"In preparing a defence we have to rummage about and get up what we can. If we can't find anything that suits us exactly, we are obliged to use what we do find as well as we can. I remember, when I was a young man, an ostler was to be tried for stealing some oats in the Borough; and he did steal them too, and sold them at a rag-shop regularly. The evidence against him was as plain as a pike-staff. All I could find out was that on a certain day a horse had trod on the fellow's foot. So we put it to the jury whether the man could walk as far as the rag-shop with a bag of oats when he was dead lame;—and we got him off."
"Did you though?" said Mr. Harding.
"Yes, we did."
"And he was guilty?"
"He had been at it regularly for months."
