At first glance, Stone’s thought was—“That child commit murder? Never!” But a few moments later, he was not quite so sure of his negation.
Fibsy just sat and looked at her. He had no occasion to speak, unless addressed, so, in silence he merely let his eyes feast on the piquant face with its ever changing expressions.
After casual questions, Stone said directly, “Did you know Doctor Waring before you came to Corinth, Miss Austin?”
“No,” she said, a little hesitantly; “I had heard of him, but I had never before seen him.”
“How had you heard of him?”
“There was much in the papers about his election.”
“And that interested you?”
“Not specially,” she said, with a sudden accession of hauteur.
And thereupon, she became a most unsatisfactory witness. She listened to Stone’s questions with an absent-minded air, answered in monosyllables, or by a movement of her head. She even gave a side smile to Fibsy, which, though it amazed him, also filled him with a strange exultant joy, and made him her abject slave at once.
Stone went on, drawling out a string of unimportant questions in a monotonous voice, and at length, he said, in the same unimportant way,