“Mrs. Wilcox is all right,” cut in the lady, with a hint of asperity.  “And so are Tolstoi, and Mrs. Gertrude Atherton, and Omar Khayyam, and Mr. Edward Bok.  I’ve read ’em all.  I would like to discuss with you the divine right of the soul as opposed to the freedom-destroying restrictions of a bigoted and narrow-minded society.  But I will proceed to business.  I would prefer to lay the matter before you in an impersonal way until you pass upon its merits.  That is to describe it as a supposable instance, without—­”

“You wish to state a hypothetical case?” said Lawyer Gooch.

“I was going to say that,” said the lady, sharply.  “Now, suppose there is a woman who is all soul and heart and aspirations for a complete existence.  This woman has a husband who is far below her in intellect, in taste—­in everything.  Bah! he is a brute.  He despises literature.  He sneers at the lofty thoughts of the world’s great thinkers.  He thinks only of real estate and such sordid things.  He is no mate for a woman with soul.  We will say that this unfortunate wife one day meets with her ideal—­a man with brain and heart and force.  She loves him.  Although this man feels the thrill of a new-found affinity he is too noble, too honourable to declare himself.  He flies from the presence of his beloved.  She flies after him, trampling, with superb indifference, upon the fetters with which an unenlightened social system would bind her.  Now, what will a divorce cost?  Eliza Ann Timmins, the poetess of Sycamore Gap, got one for three hundred and forty dollars.  Can I—­I mean can this lady I speak of get one that cheap?”

“Madam,” said Lawyer Gooch, “your last two or three sentences delight me with their intelligence and clearness.  Can we not now abandon the hypothetical and come down to names and business?”

“I should say so,” exclaimed the lady, adopting the practical with admirable readiness.  “Thomas R. Billings is the name of the low brute who stands between the happiness of his legal—­his legal, but not his spiritual—­wife and Henry K. Jessup, the noble man whom nature intended for her mate.  I,” concluded the client, with an air of dramatic revelation, “am Mrs. Billings!”

“Gentlemen to see you, sir,” shouted Archibald, invading the room almost at a handspring.  Lawyer Gooch arose from his chair.

“Mrs. Billings,” he said courteously, “allow me to conduct you into the adjoining office apartment for a few minutes.  I am expecting a very wealthy old gentleman on business connected with a will.  In a very short while I will join you, and continue our consultation.”

With his accustomed chivalrous manner, Lawyer Gooch ushered his soulful client into the remaining unoccupied room, and came out, closing the door with circumspection.

The next visitor introduced by Archibald was a thin, nervous, irritable-looking man of middle age, with a worried and apprehensive expression of countenance.  He carried in one hand a small satchel, which he set down upon the floor beside the chair which the lawyer placed for him.  His clothing was of good quality, but it was worn without regard to neatness or style, and appeared to be covered with the dust of travel.