“I wish we hadn’t.”

“Then why did you?”

“She thought, and her people thought, that as we had done nothing, we ought to defend.”

“But YOU didn’t think so?”

“I didn’t think we should be believed, and I wanted her free.”

“Her honour didn’t occur to you?”

“Of course it did; but I thought for her to stay tied was too heavy a price to pay for it.”

“You say you didn’t think you’d be believed? Altogether too improbable a story?”

“No; but the more one speaks the truth, the less one expects to be believed.”

Dinny saw the Judge turn and look at him.

“Are you speaking generally?”

“No, my Lord, I meant here.”

The Judge’s face came round again and his eyes studied the unseen above Dinny’s head.

“I am considering, you know, whether I should commit you for contempt of Court.”

“I am sorry, my Lord; what I meant was that anything one says is turned against one.”

“You speak out of inexperience. I will let it pass this time, but you mustn’t say things of that sort again. Go on, Mr. Brough.”

“The question of damages, of course, didn’t affect you in making up your mind to defend this action?”

“No.”

“You have said that you have no private means. Is that true?”

“Certainly.”

“Then how do you mean that it didn’t affect you?”

“I was thinking so much of other things that bankruptcy didn’t seem to matter.”

“Now, you have said in examination that you were not aware of Lady Corven’s existence until you were on this ship coming home. Do you know a place in Ceylon called Neuralya?”

“No.”

“What?”

Dinny saw a faint smile creep out among the Judge’s folds and wrinkles.

“Put the question another way, Mr. Brough; we generally call it Neuralya.”

“I know Neuralya, my Lord.”

“Were you there in June last?”

“Yes.”

“Was Lady Corven there?”

“She may have been.”

“Wasn’t she in the same hotel as you?”

“No. I wasn’t in an hotel. I was staying with a friend.”

“And you did not meet her playing golf or tennis, or out riding?”

“I did not.”

“Or anywhere?”

“No.”

“Not a large place, is it?”

“Not very.”

“And she’s a conspicuous person, isn’t she?”

“I think so.”

“So you never met her till you were both on this ship?”

“No.”

“When did you first become conscious that you were in love with her?”

“About the second or third day out.”

“Love almost at first sight, in fact?”

“Yes.”

“And it didn’t occur to you, knowing that she was a married woman, to avoid her?”

“I knew I ought to, but I wasn’t able.”

“You would have been able to if she had discouraged you?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did she in fact discourage you?”

“N-no. I don’t think she was aware of my feelings for some time.”

“Women are very quick in such matters, Mr. Croom. Do you seriously suggest that she was unaware?”

“I don’t know.”

“Did you trouble to conceal your feelings?”

“If you mean did I make love to her on the ship—I did not.”

“When did you first make love to her?”

“I told her my feelings just before we left the ship.”

“Was there any real reason why you should have gone to her state-room to see those photographs?”

“I suppose not.”

“Did you look at any photographs at all?”

“Certainly.”

“What else did you do?”

“I think we talked.”

“Don’t you know? This was an occasion for you, wasn’t it? Or was it only one of several occasions of which we have not been told?”

“It was the only time I was inside her state-room.”

“In that case surely you remember?”

“We just sat and talked.”

“Beginning to remember, eh? Where did you sit?”

“In the chair.”

“And where did she sit?”

“On her bed. It was a small cabin—there was no other chair.”

“An outside cabin?”

“Yes.”

“No chance of being overlooked?”

“No, but there was nothing to overlook.”

“So you both say. I suppose it gave you something of a thrill, didn’t it?”

Dinny saw the Judge’s face poked forward.

“I don’t want to interrupt you, Mr. Brough, but the witness has made no secret of his feelings.”

“Very well, my Lord. I will put it to him bluntly. I suggest, sir, that on that occasion there was misconduct between you?”

“There was none.”

“H’m! Tell the jury why it was that when Sir Gerald Corven came to London you did not go to him and frankly avow your relations with his wife.”

“What relations?”

“Come, sir! The fact, on your own showing, that you were seeing all you could of his wife; the fact that you were in love with her, and wanted her to go away with you.”

“She did not want to go away with me. I would willingly have gone to her husband, but I had no right to without her permission.”

“Did you ask for that permission?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because she had told me we could only meet as friends.”

“I suggest she told you nothing of the sort?”

“My Lord, that is asking me if I am a liar.”

“Answer the question.”

“I am not a liar.”

“That is the answer, I think, Mr. Brough.”

“Tell me, sir: you heard the respondent’s evidence, did it strike you as entirely truthful?”

Dinny saw, and hoped that no one else saw, the quivering of his face.

“Yes, so far as I could judge.”

“It was perhaps not quite a fair question. But I may put it this way: If the respondent were to say that she had done, or not done, this or that, you would feel bound in honour to corroborate her statement, where you could, and to believe it where you could not?”

“I am not sure that is quite fair, Mr. Brough.”

“My Lord, I submit that it is vital to my case to establish to the jury what the state of the co-respondent’s mind has been throughout this business.”

“Well, I won’t stop the question, but there is a limit, you know, to these generalities.”

Dinny saw the first flicker of a smile on young Croom’s face.

“My Lord, I don’t at all mind answering the question. I do not know what I should feel bound in honour to do, generally speaking.”

“Well, let us come to the particular. Lady Corven has said that she could trust you not to make love to her. Would you say that was true?”

Dinny saw his face darken.

“Not quite true. But she knew I did my best not to.”

“But now and then you couldn’t help it?”

“I don’t know what you mean by the expression ‘making love’; but now and then I know I showed my feelings.”

“Now and then? Mr. Croom, didn’t you always show your feelings?”

“If you mean did I always show that I was in love with her—of course I did, you can’t hide a thing like that.”

“That is a fair admission. I don’t want to catch you. I mean more than just showing by your face and eyes that you were in love. I mean downright physical expression.”

“Then, no, except—”

“Yes?”

“Kissing her cheek three times altogether, and holding her hand sometimes.”

“So much she has admitted, and it is all you are prepared to swear to?”

“I will swear there was no more.”

“Tell me, did you sleep at all during that night in the car, when her head was on your shoulder?”

“Yes.”

“Considering the state of your feelings, wasn’t that singular?”

“Yes. But I was up at five that morning and I’d driven a hundred and fifty miles.”

“You seriously expect us to believe that after nearly five months of longing you took no advantage of that marvellous opportunity, but just went to sleep?”

“I took no advantage. But I have told you that I do not expect to be believed.”

“I don’t wonder.”

For a long time the slow rich voice went on asking questions, and for a long time Dinny’s eyes remained fixed on that bitterly unhappy face, till a sort of numbness came over her. She was roused by:

“I suggest to you, sir, that from beginning to end of your evidence you have been actuated by the feeling that you must do everything you can for this lady without regard to your own consciousness of what is true? That your attitude, in fact, has been one of distorted chivalry?”