Miss Cornelia was deathly white; her head shook, her thin, silvery curls fluttered, as if they had caught the infection of her own nervousness. In one hand she grasped her smelling-salts desperately, with the other she revolved in an agitated way a small black fan. A murmur of sympathy ran through the court-room as she took her place. Even the District Attorney seemed sorry for her and put his opening questions with unwonted gentleness. His tone was still bland when he came to the important point—had she noticed anything peculiar in her niece's manner on the morning after the murder?
Miss Cornelia's answer was low, but it was quite audible. "She was—shocked, naturally."
"Naturally. But did she seem surprised?"
Miss Cornelia's answer was this time still lower, and given with more hesitation. "I—I think so."
"You mean you are not sure?"
"I—I was so upset myself"—began Miss Cornelia.
"That you did not notice?"
"No, I—I did not notice," said Miss Cornelia, relieved.
"You thought that her manner was unremarkable, and simply what you might have expected under the circumstances?"
"Yes, I—I thought so," said Miss Cornelia. She added to herself the mental reservation that she had no idea what sort of manner under the circumstances, she should have expected.