lation of the voice
that was restful to the ear. "And," she added, in the same sugary,
leisurely way, but raising now a slender finger gloved in white, "I
will swear to what you said."

At this Orr swam, or tried to swim, to the rescue. "Surely," he
protested, "you would not do that?"

"Wouldn't I?" she answered, addressing Orr and speaking in the same
smiling, seductive fashion that she had to Annandale. "Wouldn't I,
indeed! Really, believe me, you are quite in error."

Annandale fell back in the chair from which he had arisen. "Fanny," he
gasped, "I did not know a woman could hate like that."

Fanny smiled afresh. "No? Is it possible? But, then, perhaps, you
never knew how a woman could love."

She gave a little nod. It was as though she were adding, "Take that."

Orr was buttoning a glove, preparing to retreat. She turned to him:
"Don't go. Stay and have a drink with Arthur. He looks as though he
needed one."

She moved back.

"Yes, stay," she continued. "I am going." Once more the slender finger
gloved in white was raised. "Arthur Annandale, never willingly will I
see you again--except in court. For to court I shall go, if only to
see you sentenced."

At that, at the splendid ferocity of it, Orr looked at Annandale. When
he turned to look at Fanny, silently, no doubt smilingly, she had
gone.

CHAPTER VI

WHAT THE PAPERS SAID

There are occasions when speech is an intrusion and sympathy an
affront. An occasion of this kind coincided with Fanny's exit. On the
mantel the clock still ticked. Otherwise there was silence in that
room.

Orr, finishing with his glove, made for the door. "If I can be of
use," he said, "let me know."

Annandale stood up. "You can," he answered. For a moment he hesitated.
He seemed lost and dizzy. Then, with an effort, he got himself
together. "Tell Sylvia it is not true."

Orr passed out. But instead of returning at once to Irving Place he
went up the steps of an adjoining house. There he was told that Mrs.
Loftus could see no one. He had not expected to be received. But he
felt for her, felt, too, how she must feel.

That a Loftus should die would, he knew, be enough. But that a Loftus
should be murdered, and that Loftus be her son, there was something
which, Orr thought, might perhaps overwhelm her. And, as Orr afterward
learned, Mrs. Loftus was then sitting, her attendants about her,
absently and ceaselessly shaking her head. Nor did the motion of it
ever ce