Possibly some one of as may have shown his doubts in this regard, for the woman before us suddenly broke forth with this vehement assertion:
“Mr. Jeffrey was a loving husband to my sister. A very loving husband,” she emphasized. Then, growing desperately pale, she added, “I have never known a better man,” and stopped.
Some hidden anguish in this cry, some self-consciousness in this pause, suggested to me a possibility which I was glad to see ignored by the captain in his next question.
“When did you see your sister last?” he asked. “Were you at home when she left her husband’s house?”
“Alas!” she murmured. Then seeing that a more direct answer was expected of her, she added with as little appearance of effort as possible: “I was at home and I heard her go out. But I had no idea that it was for any purpose other than to join some social gathering.”
“Dressed this way?”
The captain pointed to the floor and her eyes followed. Certainly Mrs. Jeffrey was not appareled for an evening company. As Miss Tuttle realized the trap into which she had been betrayed, her words rushed forth and tripped each other up.
“I did not notice. She often wore black—it became her. My sister was eccentric.”
Worse, worse than useless. Some slips can not be explained away. Miss Tuttle seemed to realize that this was one of them, for she paused abruptly, with the words half finished on her tongue. Yet her attitude commanded respect, and I for one was ready to accord it to her.
Certainly, such a woman was not to be seen every day, and if her replies lacked candor, there was a nobility in her presence which gave the lie to any doubt. At least, that was the effect she produced on me. Whether or not her interrogator shared my feeling I could not so readily determine, for his attention as well as mine was suddenly diverted by the cry which now escaped her lips.