“He did not let his fall. He set it down on the cloth. He had not drank from it.”
Clear, perfectly clear—tallying with what we had heard from other sources. As this fact forced itself in upon the minds of the jury, new light shone in every eye and each and all waited eagerly for the next question.
It came with a quiet, if not insinuating, intonation.
“Miss Cumberland, where were you looking when you let your glass fall?”
My heart gave a bound. I remembered that moment well. So did she, as could be seen from the tremulous flush and the determination with which she forced herself to speak.
“At Mr. Ranelagh,” she answered, finally.
“Not at your brother?”
“No.”
“And at whom was Mr. Ranelagh looking?”
“At—at me.”