Rathbone smiled back. He allowed FitzRobert to see in his eyes that he was going to pretend he had not noticed the shadow of unhappiness there, nor understood its deeply personal nature.

"Who is he?" he asked. "He does not look familiar to me."

"Barton Lambert," FitzRobert replied. "His daughter, Zillah, is engaged to marry Killian Melville, the architect. I don't see him here tonight." He looked around. "Devoted to his work. Not a very social man."

Rathbone was suddenly uncertain whether he wanted to know more or not. When there were crimes and desperate injustices to fight, why on earth should he spend his time and his skills in defending a foolish young man from the consequences of his ambition and his lack of forthrightness towards a young woman who had taken him at his behavior, if not his word-as it turned out, mistakenly. It was not a matter which should waste the time of the law. It could be settled with a few well-chosen words and a little sensitivity, and strategic realignment.

"Brilliant fellow," FitzRobert went on. "Probably one of the most original and daring thinkers of his generation. And has the technical skill and personal drive and persistence to see his ideas from the dreams into the reality."

"With suitable help from Barton Lambert," Rathbone added dryly.

FitzRobert was surprised. "Thought you didn't know him!"

"Not a great deal." Rathbone retreated with more speed than grace. "Only what T have heard. A word or two-you know how one does."

FitzRobert smiled. "Well, I suppose he has been on people's tongues lately. The engagement was in the Times."

Rathbone spoke almost before thinking. "Perhaps you could introduce me?"

"Of course," FitzRobert agreed. "Delighted to. For all his northern brashness, and a certain quickness to see insult where it is not intended, he is a very decent fellow. Honest as you like, and loyal. Once a friend, always a friend."