“Ferdinand, be quiet,” said Eunice, her own voice low and even, but her face was ablaze with wrath. “You know nothing of such things!”
“That’s right, sir, I don’t.”
Clearly, the butler, restored to his sense of the responsibilities of his position, felt he had made a misstep and regretted it.
“Be quiet, madam!” Shane hurled at Eunice, and turning to the frightened Ferdinand, said: “You tell the truth, or you’ll go to jail! At what time was this quarrel that you have admitted took place?”
Eunice stood, superbly indifferent, looking like a tragedy queen. “Tell him, Ferdinand; tell all you know, but tell only the truth.”
“Yes, ma’am. Yes, sir; why, it was just before they went out.”
“Ah, before. Did they go out together?”
“No, sir. Mrs. Embury went later—by herself.”
“I told you that!” Eunice interposed. “I gave you a detailed account of the evening.”
“You omitted the quarrel. What was it about?”