Mann let the courtroom rumble while Cecil Warner sat down poker-faced. Now the jury could never quite forget that this was a girl who could play with children; that the children must have liked her; that children are often "judges of character" and so—maybe—
Callista this morning was looking different. Since she first appeared Judge Mann's gaze had been repeatedly drawn to her as he tried to discover the nature of the change. No make-up, dressed the same, the white blouse more wilted. But her cheeks showed faint color; her mouth was not set in such a bitter line. Once or twice when Warner whispered to her she smiled, a flash of light almost shocking in its unexpected sweetness. And when her thin face was relaxed, perhaps the only word for it this morning was—peacefulness. With no change in the circumstances, with the troubled honest woman on the stand obviously about to do a little more toward destroying her from a sense of duty, what had Callista Blake to do with peacefulness? He noticed also that redheaded Edith Nolan had managed to get a seat one row nearer the arena, and her candid blue eyes seldom left the face of her friend.
"Mrs. Jason, did you notice Callista Blake talking with anyone but the children that afternoon?"
"When she was leaving, I saw Dr. Chalmers standing by her car talking with her, and the children ran over to say good-bye."
"No one else?"
Mrs. Jason shrugged. "Everything informal—acquaintances of long standing, no occasion for formal gestures."
"How was Miss Blake dressed that day?"
"Brown skirt, green blouse, very nice with her color."
"Did you notice a shoulder-strap bag?"
"Yes."