"Do not, I beg."
"Well, Uncle, you can trust my judgment, you know you can. You would
trust me in--in--" For a moment Miss Brodie was at a loss; then her eyes
fell upon the grunting, comfortable old mother pig with her industrious
litter. "Well, don't I know good Wiltshires when I see them?"
"Quite true," replied her uncle solemnly; "and therefore, men."
"Uncle, you're very nearly rude."
"I apologise," replied her uncle hastily. "But now, Bessie, my dear
girl, seriously, as to this case, you must understand that I cannot
interfere. The Bank--hem--the Bank is a great National--"
Miss Bessie saw that the Guards were being called upon. She hastened to
bring up her reserves. "I know, Uncle, I know! I wouldn't for the world
say a word against the Bank, but you see the case against the lad is at
least doubtful."
"I was going on to observe," resumed her uncle, judicially, "that the
Bank--"
"Don't misunderstand me, Uncle," cried his niece, realising that she had
reached a moment of crisis. "You know I would not for a moment
presume to interfere with the Bank, but"--here she deployed her whole
force,--"the lad's youth and folly; his previous good character,
guaranteed by Dunn, who knows men; his glorious game--no man who wasn't
straight could play such a game!--the large chance of his innocence, the
small chance of his guilt; the hide-bound rigidity of lawyers and bank
managers, dominated by mere rules and routine, in contrast with the
open-minded independence of her uncle; the boy's utter helplessness; his
own father having been ready to believe the worst,--just think of it,
Uncle, his own father thinking of himself and of his family name--much
he has ever done for his family name!--and not of his own boy,
and"--here Miss Brodie's voice took a lower key--"and his mother died
some five or six years ago, when he was thirteen or fourteen, and I
know, you know, that is hard on a boy.
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