He was no doubt doing his best to express the attitude of society toward these wearily heroic defendants, but he seemed to be merely rude and unfair to Ann Veronica. For a time she could scarcely believe he was gone. He panted for a moment with unuttered replies, and then, with a scornful gesture, got up and left the cell. She loped forward on unnaturally long legs and arms that swung loosely. It had felt wonderful to pick up the fiddle again. “Why destroy me, child? There are so many secrets I 231 could tell you. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. And I get myself dirty. The flowers upon the mantel-shelf were withered and drooping—she had gathered them. Amongst the ring-leaders was Blueskin, whose swarthy features and athletic figure were easily distinguished. Supper was over. She meant to leave anyway, or so she would tell herself later.
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