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looking at the cracks in the ceiling as if utterly disassociated from the proceedings.
    “Ah,” said the magistrate at last, “I’m glad that your determination to teach us how to do our job extends not only to me but to the learned justices’ clerk who has, let me see, is it thirty years’ experience in his current position? What a relief that a young lady has joined the ranks of advocates so that we may all learn how to proceed. You may take the prisoner down.” And he snapped his fingers at the jailer.
    Gathering my papers and briefcase, I headed for the door, which the usher made an elaborate play of opening for me, then bowing from the waist. In the foyer a group of lawyers went quiet and fixed me with cold stares before resuming their conversation. I went down to the cells to see Leah but was told she didn’t want to speak to me.
    All this time I had been biting back tears. I thought at last I could escape this scene of humiliation, but as I ran down the courthouse steps, I heard someone call my name and then a hand fell lightly on my arm. Startled, I glimpsed long fingers, shapely nails, a starched cuff under a pinstriped sleeve. “Miss Gifford,” a cultivated voice murmured in my ear, “admirably done. We absolutely cannot allow behavior of that kind by these little magisterial despots.”
    A stranger’s face was inclined very close to mine, amused eyes, youthful lips under a glossy mustache, deep forehead, a scent of cologne. “One tip, if I might be so bold. Your worst crime is not that you’re a lady—though that’s bad enough, as I’m sure you’re aware—but that you interrupted the magistrate. My advice: never interrupt a magistrate or judge, whatever nonsense they speak. Makes them mad. Hear them out, agree, ignore. That’s the trick.”
    I withdrew my arm: “Thank you, but I don’t believe I asked for advice,” and I marched away thinking that to be patronized by a smooth-tongued barrister was the final straw.

    I arrived in Sloane Square with ten minutes to spare; Meredith, on the other hand, was nearly quarter of an hour late, which at least gave me the opportunity to gather my wits. It seemed to me, after the utter debacle of the Marchant hearing, that I had no choice but to offer my resignation. It was one thing to harbor an ambition to be a lawyer, quite another to see clients suffer as a result.
    Having made this self-sacrificial and momentous decision, I wanted to act on it at once and grew irritated by Meredith’s lateness. Punctuality was one of the absolutes by which we lived in Clivedon Hall Gardens. When she appeared at last, decked out in a lilac frock with a three-layered frilled skirt and matching hat, she apologized profusely, saying she’d got herself all mixed up with the omnibuses. Seizing my hands as if we were sisters or best friends, she kissed me on both cheeks. This collision of flesh, the waft of perfume, her “Oh, it is such a joy to see you,” threw me off balance after the hostility of the courtroom, and for the second time in an hour I felt tears pricking.
    As we entered the store, she bestowed a dazzling smile on the doorman, who snapped to attention.
    “Where is Edmund?” I asked.
    “Your grandmother is keeping him company. They have found a shared interest in collecting things: your brother’s stamp collection, her albums of theater programs, Edmund’s foreign coins, the few I allowed him to bring, her box of buttons, out they have all come.”
    “Grandmother will enjoy that.”
    Meredith paused beside a counter of white fluff, glanced winsomely at a shop assistant, and flung a stole around her neck. “What do you think? Do you like it?” She drew up her shoulders and snuggled her face into the fur, which settled so fetchingly against her pale skin and auburn hair that other customers paused to watch. “You try it, go on, Evelyn.”
    “I’d rather not.”
    “Well, how about this pink scarf? I should like to buy you something. I should like to