He supposed it was some young lawyer from one of the offices down the hall, where struggling students, or clerks from the abstract offices, sometimes brought knotty problems for him to solve. These folk still lived in the rear of their offices--as indeed Horace Brooks but recently had done himself. A disorderly couch still might have been found in the room beyond, fragments of soap, a soiled towel or so, a broken comb, a sidelong mirror--traces of his own humble and arduous beginnings in the law. But he turned half about now, and dropped his feet to the floor as he heard the rustle of a gown. He sat half leaning forward as Aurora Lane entered. He had small training in the social usages--he did not always rise when a woman entered the room, unless some special reason for that act existed. So he sat for just a time, and looked at her, the fact of her presence seeming slowly to filter into his brain. Then quickly he stood and went forward to her, his rare smile illuminating his homely features. "Come in," said he. "Will you be seated? Why have you come here?" He was simple and direct of habit. Aurora Lane looked at him not only with the eyes of a client, but with the eyes of a woman. She saw plainly the quick look of eagerness, the swift hopefulness which came into his eyes. But she must forestall all that. "Mr. Brooks," said she, "I've come to you for help--I need your professional services." He sat looking at her gravely for some time, the light in his face slowly fading away. "Help?" said he. "As how?" He was of the plain people, and at times lapsed into the colloquial inelegancies of his early life. But he needed little divination now to know that Aurora Lane came to him for no personal reasons that offered him any hope. "It's about my boy," said Aurora. "You know--Don." He nodded slowly. "Yes, I know--the coroner's jury has held him over." "But he's in jail." "Yes, they had that right--to hold him for the investigation of the grand jury. And this is a grand jury matter, as you must know. Court opens tomorrow. The grand jury sits tomorrow morning. At least the preliminaries won't take long. But the outlook is bad, Aurora--they mean to get him if they can." Aurora Lane for a third time that day produced from her shabby pocket book the little worn bill which represented her sole worldly fortune. A flush rose to her temples now as she held it hesitatingly between her fingers. He saw it very plainly, and caught something of her meaning in the pause. A slow red came also into his own face. "You'd better keep that for the present," said he slowly after a time. He pushed her fingers back with the bill. "I know this is professional, but I can't take money from you now--not that money--because I know very well you've got none you can afford to spend. Aurora, there's no use trying to have secrets from me--we know each other too well." "But what right do you leave me then to come to you?"