She began to miss him when he was gone during the day and cherish the quiet times he spent only with her. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. He dragged it out, and perceiving, in spite of the decayed frame, that it was the body of Sir Rowland Trenchard, commanded his attendants to convey it up stairs—an order which was promptly obeyed. . ” “Then perhaps,” she answered, with a new coldness in her tone, “perhaps I really do not care. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. He was staring at her, openly gaping.
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