"What IS the matter?" he asked at length.
She hesitated, then suddenly burst out, "Craig—I—I am—a murderess!"
I have never seen such a look on Craig's face. I know he wanted to laugh and say, "YOU—a murderess?" yet he would not have offended even her self accusation for the world. He managed to do the right thing and say nothing.
Then she poured forth the story substantially as I have set it down, but without the explanation which at that time was not known to any of us.
"Oh," expostulated Craig, "there must be some mistake. It's impossible—impossible."
"No," she asserted. "Look—here's my handkerchief all spotted with blood."
She opened the bag and displayed the blood-spotted handkerchief. He took it and examined it carefully.
"Elaine," he said earnestly, not at all displeased, I could see that something had come up that might blot out the past unfortunate misunderstanding, "there simply must be something wrong here. Leave this handkerchief with me. I'll do my best."
There was still a little restraint between them. She was almost ready to beg his pardon, for all the coolness there had been between them, yet still hesitated.
"Thank you," she said simply as she left the laboratory.