“And, too,” the Examiner went on, coldly, “It is useless for you to rant around like that! I’ll simply go to another telephone.”
Eunice stepped back and looked at him, more in surprise than submission. To be told that she was “ranting around” was not the way in which she was usually spoken to! Moreover, she realized it was true, that to jerk the telephone away from Dr. Crowell could not permanently prevent his sending his message.
She tried another tack.
“I beg your pardon, doctor,” she said, and her expression was that of a sad and sorry child. “You’re right, I mustn’t lose my temper so. But, you know, I am under a severe mental strain—and something should be forgiven me—some allowance made for my dreadful position—”
“Yes, ma’am—oh, certainly, ma’am—” Crowell was again nervous and restless. He proved that he could withstand an angry woman far better than a supplicating one. Eunice saw this and followed up her advantage.
“And, so, doctor, try to appreciate how I feel—a newlymade widow—my husband dead, from some unknown cause, but which I know is not—murder,” after a second’s hesitation she pronounced the awful word clearly—”and you want to add to my terror and distress by calling in the police—of all things, the police!”
“Yes, ma’am, I know it’s too bad—but, my duty, ma’am—”
“Your duty is first, to me!” Eunice’s smile was dazzling. It had been a callous heart, indeed, that would not be touched by it!
“To you, ma’am?” The Examiner’s tone was innocence itself.
“Yes,” Eunice faltered, for she began to realize she was not gaining ground. “You owe me the—don’t they call it the benefit of the doubt?”