“Effie will certainly not be whipped,” answered Geoffrey sternly.  “I warn you that it will go very badly with anybody who lays a finger on her.”

“Oh, very well, ruin the child.  Go your own way, Geoffrey!  At any rate I am not going to stop here to listen to any more abuse.  Good-night,” and she went.

Geoffrey sat down, and lit a cigarette.  “A pleasant home-coming,” he thought to himself.  “Honoria shall have money as much as she can spend—­if I kill myself to get it, she shall have it.  What a life, what a life!  I wonder if Beatrice would treat her husband like this—­if she had one.”

He laughed aloud at the absurdity of the idea, and then with a gesture of impatience threw his cigarette into the fire and went to his room to try and get some sleep, for he was thoroughly wearied.

CHAPTER XVII

GEOFFREY WINS HIS CASE

Before ten o’clock on the following morning, having already spent two hours over his brief, that he had now thoroughly mastered, Geoffrey was at his chambers, which he had some difficulty in reaching owing to the thick fog that still hung over London, and indeed all England.

To his surprise nothing had been heard either of the Attorney-General or of Mr. Candleton.  The solicitors were in despair; but he consoled them by saying that one or the other was sure to turn up in time, and that a few words would suffice to explain the additional light which had been thrown on the case.  He occupied his half hour, however, in making a few rough notes to guide him in the altogether improbable event of his being called on to open, and then went into court.  The case was first on the list, and there were a good many counsel engaged on the other side.  Just as the judge took his seat, the solicitor, with an expression of dismay, handed Geoffrey a telegram which had that moment arrived from Mr. Candleton.  It was dated from Calais on the previous night, and ran, “Am unable to cross on account of thick fog.  You had better get somebody else in Parsons and Douse.”

“And we haven’t got another brief prepared,” said the agonised solicitor.  “What is more, I can hear nothing of the Attorney-General, and his clerk does not seem to know where he is.  You must ask for an adjournment, Mr. Bingham; you can’t manage the case alone.”

“Very well,” said Geoffrey, and on the case being called he rose and stated the circumstances to the court.  But the Court was crusty.  It had got the fog down its throat, and altogether It didn’t seem to see it.  Moreover the other side, marking its advantage, objected strongly.  The witnesses, brought at great expense, were there; his Lordship was there, the jury was there; if this case was not taken there was no other with which they could go on, &c., &c.

The court took the same view, and lectured Geoffrey severely.  Every counsel in a case, the Court remembered, when It was at the Bar, used to be able to open that case at a moment’s notice, and though things had, It implied, no doubt deteriorated to a considerable extent since those palmy days, every counsel ought still to be prepared to do so on emergency.