"Ah," said Mr. Gryce, in his slow, sarcastic way, "you recollect that principle of law, do you? If I remember rightly, you have not always been so punctilious in regarding it, or wishing to have it regarded, when the question was whether Mr. Clavering was the assassin or not."
"But he is a man. It does not seem so dreadful to accuse a man of a crime. But a woman! and such a woman! I cannot listen to it; it is horrible. Nothing short of absolute confession on her part will ever make me believe Mary Leavenworth, or any other woman, committed this deed. It was too cruel, too deliberate, too"
"Read the criminal records," broke in Mr. Gryce.
But I was obstinate. "I do not care for the criminal records. All the criminal records in the world would never make me believe Eleanore perpetrated this crime, nor will I be less generous towards her cousin. Mary Leavenworth is a faulty woman, but not a guilty one."
"You are more lenient in your judgment of her than her cousin was, it appears."
"I do not understand you," I muttered, feeling a new and yet more fearful light breaking upon me.
"What! have you forgotten, in the hurry of these late events, the sentence of accusation which we overheard uttered between these ladies on the morning of the inquest?"
"No, but"
"You believed it to have been spoken by Mary to Eleanore?"
"Of course; did n’t you?"
Oh, the smile which crossed Mr. Gryce’s face! "Scarcely. I left that baby-play for you. I thought one was enough to follow on that tack."
