"I am not certain of the date," she replied. "It was—let me think—it was the evening of a day when the neighborhood sewing-circle met at my uncle's house. I remember, now—it was the sixth of May."
"Did Captain Baynell attend the meeting of the sewing-circle?"—the judge-advocate permitted himself an edge of satire.
"He was present, and Colonel Ashley, and Lieutenant Seymour."
"Oh!" said the judge-advocate, at a loss.
At a loss and doubtful, but encouraged. To his mind she offered the key to the situation. Keenly susceptible to feminine influence himself, he fancied he could divine its effect on another man. He proceeded warily, reducing his question to writing, while on various faces ranged about the table appeared a shade of doubt and even reprobation of the tone he was taking.
"You have laid aside the insignia of mourning—yet you do not contemplate matrimony. You are very young."
"I am twenty-three—as I have already stated."
"You may live a long time. You may live to grow old. You propose to live alone the remainder of your days. Did you tell Captain Baynell that?"
"In effect, yes."
Her face had grown crimson, then paled, then the color came again in patches. But her voice did not falter, and she looked at her interlocutor with an admirable steadiness. The president again cleared his throat as if about to speak. The shade of disapprobation deepened on the listening faces.