“Will nothing that I can say to you,” he asked, “induce you to think as I think in this matter?” “I have not your ability or your experience,” I answered. “I am sorry to say I can’t think as you think.” “And you are really determined to see Miserrimus Dexter again?” “I have engaged myself to see him again.” He waited a little, and thought over it. “You have honored me by asking for my advice,” he said. “I earnestly advise you, Mrs. Eustace, to break your engagement. I go even further than that--I _entreat_ you not to see Dexter again.” Just what my mother-in-law had said! just what Benjamin and Major Fitz-David had said! They were all against me. And still I held out. I wonder, when I look back at it, at my own obstinacy. I am almost ashamed to relate that I made Mr. Playmore no reply. He waited, still looking at me. I felt irritated by that fixed look. I arose, and stood before him with my eyes on the floor. He arose in his turn. He understood that the conference was over. “Well, well,” he said, with a kind of sad good-humor, “I suppose it is unreasonable of me to expect that a young woman like you should share any opinion with an old lawyer like me. Let me only remind you that our conversation must remain strictly confidential for the present; and then let us change the subject. Is there anything that I can do for you? Are you alone in Edinburgh?” “No. I am traveling with an old friend of mine, who has known me from childhood.” “And do you stay here to-morrow?” “I think so.” “Will you do me one favor? Will you think over what has passed between us, and will you come back to me in the morning?” “Willingly, Mr. Playmore, if it is only to thank you again for your kindness.” On that understanding we parted. He sighed--the cheerful man sighed, as he opened the door for me. Women are contradictory creatures. That sigh affected me more than all his arguments. I felt myself blush for my own head-strong resistance to him as I took my leave and turned away into the street. CHAPTER XXXIV. GLENINCH. “AHA!” said Benjamin, complacently. “So the lawyer thinks, as I do, that you will be highly imprudent if you go back to Mr. Dexter? A hard-headed, sensible man the lawyer, no doubt. You will listen to Mr. Playmore, won’t you, though you wouldn’t listen to me?” (I had of course respected Mr. Playmore’s confidence in me when Benjamin and I met on my return to the hotel. Not a word relating to the lawyer’s horrible suspicion of Miserrimus Dexter had passed my lips.) “You must forgive me, my old friend,” I said, answering Benjamin. “I am afraid it has come to this--try as I may, I can listen to nobody who advises me. On our way here I honestly meant to be guided by Mr. Playmore--we should never have taken this long journey if I had not honestly meant it. I have tried, tried hard to be a teachable, reasonable woman. But there is something in me that won’t be taught. I am afraid I shall go back to Dexter.”