What a pair those Merivales were! Invincible seemed to be the only word that described them. Strong, brave, keen-witted, they looked forceful and capable enough to ward off all trouble from the girl they loved. But whether they could do so or not was the question.
Alma, white-faced but composed, walked with a steady step, and took the seat the usher offered, in the front row, her faithful henchmen on either side.
Mrs. Dallas was also in the front row, and the secretaries and Harper Ames.
In the next row sat the entire staff of the Pleasure Dome servants. Then came the neighbours and villagers. The room was quickly filled and many were turned away or relegated to other rooms in the house.
The air was heavy with the scent of hothouse flowers, for the well-meaning donors were not content to send the lovely garden flowers blooming on their own estates.
Exquisite music sounded from behind a screen of tall palms, and as the services began, March looked at me, and we silently rose and went out.
“Horrible affairs, funerals,” I said, wiping my brow with my handkerchief.
“Oh, I don’t know,” the detective responded, “I rather like them. I like that exotic effect of the flowers and music and the solemn-faced audience, and the still peaceful figure in the casket. Yes, it impresses me rather pleasantly.”
“Then you’re a ghoul,” I told him, irritably, which was unjust on the face of it.
The good-natured chap only smiled, for he realized, I think, that my nerves were on edge.