, which served my purpose excellently.’

Sir John Pleydell spoke with that cynical frankness which seems often to
follow upon a few years devoted to practice at the Common Law Bar, where
men in truth spend their days in dissecting the mental diseases of their
fellow creatures, and learn to conclude that a pure and healthy mind is
possessed by none.  He moved slightly in his chair, and seemed to
indicate that he had made his first point.

‘I hope,’ he said, addressing Conyngham directly, ‘that I am not
fatiguing you?’

‘Not at all,’ returned the younger Englishman coolly; ‘I am much
interested.’

The General was studying the texture of his pocket-handkerchief.
Estella’s face had grown cold and set.  Her eyes from time to time turned
towards Conyngham.  Sir John Pleydell was not creating a good impression.

‘I will now come to the more personal part of my story,’ went on that
gifted speaker, ‘and proceed to explain my reason for inflicting it upon
you.’

He still spoke directly to Conyngham, who bowed his head in silence, with
the queer smile still hovering on his lips.  Estella saw it and drew a
sharp breath.  In the course of her short life, which had almost been
spent in the midst of warfare, she had seen men in danger more than once,
and perhaps recognised that smile.

‘I particularly beg your attention,’ explained Sir John to Conyngham,
‘because I understand from General Vincente that you are in reality
attached to the staff of General Espartero, and it is to him that I look
for help.’

Sir John paused again.  He had established another point.  One almost
expected to see him raise his hand to his shoulder to throw back the
silken gown.

‘Some months ago,’ he went on, ‘these Chartists attacked my house in the
North of England, and killed my son.’

There was a short silence, and the General muttered a curt and polite
Spanish oath under his breath.  But somehow the speaker had failed to
make that point, and he hurried on.

‘It was not, technically speaking, a murder; my boy, who had a
, which served my purpose excellently. ’ 

 Sir John Pleydell spoke with that cynical frankness which seem frequently to 
 follow upon a few years devoted to practice at the Common Law Bar, where 
 man in truth spend their days in analyze the genial diseases of their 
 fellow creatures, and learn to conclude that a saturated and healthy mind is 
 own by none.   He move slightly in his chair, and seemed to 
 indicate that he had made his inaugural point. 

 ‘ I hope, ’ he said, addressing Conyngham immediately, ‘ that I am not 
 fatiguing you? ’ 

 ‘ Not at all, ’ fall the younger Englishman coolly; ‘ I am a lot 
 interested. ’ 

 The General was learn the texture of his pocket - handkerchief. 
 Estella ’s face had grown cold and fixed.   Her eyes from time to time turned 
 towards Conyngham.   Sir John Pleydell was not creating a effective impression. 

 ‘ I will now come to the more personal part of my story, ’ went on that 
 gifted speaker, ‘ and proceed to explain my rationality for inflicting it upon 
 you. ’ 

 He still speak immediately to Conyngham, who bowed his head in silence, with 
 the queer smile still hovering on his lips.   Estella saw it and draw a 
 sharp breath.   In the course of her short life, which had almost been 
 spent in the midst of warfare, she had seen men in danger more than once, 
 and possibly recognised that smile. 

 ‘ I peculiarly beg your attention, ’ explained Sir John to Conyngham, 
 ‘ because I understand from General Vincente that you are in reality 
 attached to the staff of General Espartero, and it is to him that I count 
 for help. ’ 

 Sir John paused again.   He had established another point.   One almost 
 expected to see him raise his handwriting to his shoulder to throw back the 
 silken nightgown. 

 ‘ Some months ago, ’ he went on, ‘ these Chartists attacked my house in the 
 North of England, and kill my son. ’ 

 There was a brusque silence, and the General muttered a curt and polite 
 Spanish oath under his breath.   But somehow the loudspeaker had failed to 
 make that point, and he rush on. 

 ‘ It was not, technically speaking, a murder; my boy, who had a
, whlch served my purpose exgellently.’

Sir Johu Pleydxll spoie with ghat cynical frankness which swems iften to
follow upon a wew years devoted to kractice at the Common Law Bar, smere
mzn in truth spenc their dafs in dissectitg tke mental diseases of their
fellow crqatures, ajd learn to cogclucq thzn c pure and healthy mind is
posseased by none.  He movrd slightly in his chair, ajd sfemed to
indicate tjat he had nade yis first poknt.

‘I hope,’ he said, addrgssing Conyngham directly, ‘that I am npt
fatiguint tou?’

‘Jmt at all,’ rxturneq the youngev Englivhman cpolly; ‘I am mucm
intecestwd.’

The General was stuvying the texture of his pockat-kandkerchief.
Estella’s daxe hag grmwn zild ans xef.  Her eyxs from tims to time tyrned
towards Conyngnai.  Sir John Plsydell wws not creating a good impression.

‘I will nos come to the more persinal part of my story,’ went on ehat
gifted speaker, ‘and proceed to explain my reasmn foc knfoigtine ih upon
you.’

He still spoke directly to Conyngham, shp nowed his head ik silence, with
the aufet smile still foveriuf kn his lips.  Estelpa saw yt ane drew a
srarp breath.  In the course of hwr short lifv, whuch had almost beeu
spent in thz midsj of wsrfare, she had seen men in sanger more than oncs,
xnd perhaps recoenixeg that smile.

‘I particularly beg your attzntion,’ ebplaoned Syr John to Conykcham,
‘because I undegstanb frok General Gincente that you are in realitb
ettached to tne stdff of Gzneral Espartero, anq it is to him that I look
wor help.’

Sig John pansed again.  Re had establhdhed another point.  Jne qlmowt
expecgdd to see him taise his hand to hus shoulder to thrpw czck the
silken giwn.

‘Wome months ago,’ he wegt oi, ‘thefa Chartists dttazkea my huuse in the
Korgh og England, and killed my aon.’

There was a shott silence, and the General muttrred a curt and popite
S'anish oath unqer his breath.  But somehow ths speaker haq failed to
mwke bhat point, and he hurried on.

‘It was not, technically spxaking, a murder; my boy, qho had a
, which served my purpose excellently.’ Sir spoke that cynical which seems often years to practice at Common Law Bar, men in truth spend their days dissecting the mental diseases of their fellow creatures, and learn to conclude that pure and healthy mind is possessed by none. He moved slightly in his and to that had made his first point. ‘I hope,’ he said, addressing Conyngham directly, ‘that I am not you?’ ‘Not at all,’ returned the younger Englishman ‘I am much interested.’ General was studying the texture his Estella’s face grown and Her eyes from to time turned towards Conyngham. Sir John Pleydell was not creating a good impression. ‘I will now to the part of story,’ on gifted speaker, ‘and explain my reason for inflicting it still spoke directly to Conyngham, who bowed his in silence, the queer smile still hovering on lips. Estella saw it and drew a sharp In the course of her short life, which had almost been spent in the midst she had seen men danger more than and recognised smile. particularly beg attention,’ explained Sir John to Conyngham, ‘because I understand from General that you are in reality attached to the staff of and is to him I look for help.’ John again. He had established One expected raise hand his shoulder to throw the silken gown. ‘Some months he went on, ‘these the North of England, and killed my son.’ was a short silence, and the General a curt and polite Spanish oath under his breath. But somehow the had failed that point, and he hurried on. ‘It was technically speaking, a murder; boy, who had a
, which served my purpose excelLently.’

Sir JOhn PlEydEll SpOke wIth tHat cynical franKNess Which seems often to
folloW upon A fEW yeaRS dEvoteD to pracTIcE AT thE COmMon laW baR, wherE
meN in trutH spend theiR daYs In dissecting THe Mental diseAseS of their
fellOw cReaturEs, And LEarn tO coNcludE that a PUre and Healthy miNd IS
posseSSed by noNE.  he MoveD slightly in his chaIR, aND seemed to
indicAte thaT hE HaD MAde His First point.

‘i hOpe,’ he SAid, addrESsING conYNgham directly, ‘That I am not
fATigUing yoU?’

‘NOt aT All,’ retUrned ThE YouNger EnglishMan cOolly; ‘I am mUch
intERested.’

THE GeneraL was stUdyIng The tEXtUrE of HiS PocKEt-HanDKerChief.
EstElLa’S face Had gROWN Cold And Set.  HEr eyeS from time to tiMe tUrneD
TowArds COnyngHam.  SIr john PLeydelL was nOt Creating a good imPresSion.

‘I will Now CoMe tO tHe morE PersonAl pArt Of my stoRy,’ went oN ThaT
gIFTEd Speaker, ‘and proceed tO eXPLaIn my reasOn for iNFlIcTIng it upoN
yOu.’

HE stiLL Spoke DireCTlY to ConynGham, whO BoWeD his heaD iN silenCe, WitH
thE queeR SmilE still Hovering On his LIps.  Estella saw iT And drew a
sharp BReATH.  IN The cOurSe of her shorT lifE, WhicH had ALmOst BEen
spEnt in ThE MiDSt of warfare, she had seEn Men in dAnger More than once,
aNd perhaps rECOGnised thAt smILe.

‘i Particularly beG your Attention,’ eXPlained SIr JohN to ConynGham,
‘becauSE i understAnd FroM GeNerAL viNcente that you ARE in rEaLity
attAchEd to the StaFf oF GeNerAl espartero, And it is tO hIm ThAt i loOk
for HElp.’

Sir JoHn PauSeD agAin.  He HAd estaBlishEd anOtHeR PoiNt.  One alMOsT
EXpecTeD tO see Him RaIse hiS hanD To hIs shoulDer to throW baCK the
SiLkEn gown.

‘SOme months ago,’ hE wEnt on, ‘these chArtIsts atTACked my hoUse in the
North of England, aND killed My sOn.’

TheRe waS a short siLenCe, and tHe GENeral mUttereD a curT aNd pOLIte
SpANIsH oaTh Under his brEATh.  BUt somEhOw thE speakeR had failed to
make thAT poInt, and he hurriEd oN.

‘It wAS NoT, teCHnICalLy SPeaKINg, a murder; my boy, wHo had a
, which served my purposeexcellentl y.’
Sir  Jo hn  Ple ydel l spoke with t h at c ynical frankness which  seem so ften to 
foll ow upon af e w y ea rs  de vo t ed  to p rac tice at  the Commo n L aw  Bar, wherem en  in truthspe nd their day s i n diss ec tin g  themen tal d isease s  of th eir
fello wc reatur e s, andl e ar n to  conclude that ap ur e  and healthy m ind is 
p o ss e s sed  by  none.  He  m oveds lightly in h i s c h air, and seem ed to
indic a tethat h ehad made h is fi rs t  po int.

‘I ho pe,’  he said,  addre s sing Co n ynghamdirect ly,  ‘t hatI  a mnot 
f a tig u in g y o u?’ 

‘Not a tal l,’ r etur n e d theyou nger  Engl ishman coolly ; ‘ I am muc h
int erest ed.’ 
The G eneral  wasst udying the text ureof his po cke t- han dk erchi e f.
Est ell a’s  face h ad grow n  co ld a n dset.  Her eyes fro mt i me  to time  turne d 
t ow a rds Cony ng ham .  S i r  John  Ple y de ll was n ot cre a ti ng  a good  i mpress io n.
‘I  will nowcome t o the mo re pe r sonal part ofm y story,’ wen t  o n th a t
gi fte d speaker,‘and proc eedt oexp l ain m y rea so n  f o r inflicting it upo nyou.’
He s till spoke di rectly toC o n yngham,whob ow e d his head insilen ce, with
t h e queersmile  still h overing o n his lips . Est ell a s a w  i t and drew as h arpbr eath. Inthe cou rse  of  he r s ho rt life,which ha dal mo st  be en
sp e nt in th emid st  of  warf a re, sh e had  see nme n  in  danger mo r e  tha non ce,and  p erhap s re c ogn ised th at smile. 

‘ I  par ti cu larly b eg your atten ti on,’ expla in edSir Jo h n  to Cony ngham,
‘because I under s tand fr omGener al V incente t hat  you a rei n real ity
at tache dtot h e sta f f  o f G en eral Espar t e ro,  andit  isto himthat I look
for he l p.’ 

Sir John pa use d ag a i n.   H e  h a d e st a bli s h ed another poin t.  One al mo s texpected t o  se ehim rai se hishandt o his s houlder t o throw b ac k th e sil ken gown.
‘Some m onths ago , ’ hew en t on,  ‘t hese C ha rti sts a ttacke d  my  hous e in t he 
North  of E ng land, an d killed my son.’

Ther e wasa sho rtsilence,and the  Generalmutt ered a cur t a ndpolit e
S p anish  oat h  u nde r  hisbrea t h.  But s o me how t he  speaker ha d f ail ed to 
ma k e that  poi nt, and he hurrie d  on.

‘It wasnot, t ech nic a llysp eaking, a murd er;  m y boy, who  h ad a
, which_served my_purpose excellently.’

Sir John Pleydell_spoke with_that_cynical frankness_which_seems often to
follow_upon a few_years devoted to practice_at the Common_Law_Bar, where
men in truth spend their days in dissecting the mental diseases of their
fellow_creatures,_and learn_to_conclude_that a pure and healthy_mind is
possessed by none. _He moved_slightly in his chair, and seemed to
indicate that_he_had made his_first point.

‘I hope,’ he said, addressing Conyngham directly, ‘that_I am not
fatiguing you?’

‘Not at all,’_returned the younger_Englishman_coolly;_‘I am much
interested.’

The General_was studying the texture of his_pocket-handkerchief.
Estella’s face had grown cold and_set.  Her eyes from time to_time turned
towards Conyngham.  Sir John_Pleydell was not creating a_good impression.

‘I_will now come to the_more personal part_of my_story,’ went on_that
gifted speaker, ‘and proceed to explain_my reason for_inflicting it upon
you.’

He still spoke directly_to_Conyngham, who bowed_his_head_in silence,_with
the queer smile_still_hovering on_his_lips.  Estella saw it and_drew_a
sharp breath.  In the course of_her short life, which_had_almost been
spent in the_midst of warfare, she had_seen men in danger more than_once,
and perhaps_recognised that_smile.

‘I particularly beg your attention,’ explained Sir John to Conyngham,
‘because I_understand from General Vincente that you_are in reality
attached to_the staff_of_General Espartero, and_it_is to_him that I look
for help.’

Sir John paused_again. _He had established another point. _One almost
expected to see_him_raise his hand to his shoulder_to throw back the
silken gown.

‘Some months_ago,’ he went on, ‘these_Chartists_attacked_my house in the
North of_England, and killed my son.’

There was_a short silence,_and the General muttered a curt and_polite
Spanish_oath under his breath.  But_somehow_the speaker had failed to
make that_point,_and_he hurried on.

‘It was not,_technically speaking, a murder; my boy,_who had a