“But have you?” Hoyt scanned her face closely, noting the quickly dropped eyelids and firm, set mouth.
“Not a suspicion—oh, no!”
“A premonition, then? A vague idea of any way to look?”
“No—no. No, I haven’t.”
The first negative was hesitating, the second, positive and decided. It was as if she had instantly made up her mind to say nothing more.
Leslie Hoyt looked at her, and then with a gentle smile, as of one humoring a child, he said: “All right, dear. Come now with me.”
And together, they went to listen to the inquest held to determine the circumstances of the death of Rowland Trowbridge.
CHAPTER IV
THE INQUEST BEGINS
As Avice entered the drawing-room, she seemed to sense only a blur of faces. It was incredible that this should be the room where she had so often laughed and danced and sung in thoughtless joyousness of spirit. She blindly followed Judge Hoyt, and sat where he bade her, quite near the coroner and his jury.
The jurymen, though solemnly attentive to their duty, could not help their roving gaze being attracted to the splendor of their surroundings. The Trowbridge home was the perfection of quiet, old-fashioned elegance. Often Avice had wanted to introduce more modern furniture and decorations, but Mr. Trowbridge had firmly denied her requests. And so the old crystal chandeliers still drooped their festooned prisms and the massive doors were still of a soft, lusterless black, with fine gilt outlines of panelling.