"Well, sir, I went to the pond. His clothes wet, I knew it—"
"Just what you did, not what you thought. You went to the pond—wait a minute. We'll go back a little at this point, Miss Welsh. You were well acquainted with Ann Doherty—Mrs. James Doherty?"
"Well, I sh'd hope—I'm sorry, sir. Yes, I was."
"When did you first meet her?"
"In 1956. They moved in that year. Good neighbors, her anyway."
Edith saw the Old Man rising, and steady too, monumental. "May it please the Court, the defense is not concerned with the character of James Doherty, but I object in principle to that kind of innuendo."
"Sustained." The Judge's voice was cool. "The witness's last remark beginning with the words 'good neighbors' will be stricken."
Edith relaxed, aware of the primitive quality of her gratification: one for our side. Not that Jim belonged to the defense—Jim was lost, or trapped. All the same, the defense had spoken. She also recalled unhappily other words Cecil had spoken to that Martini: "Why did I order that thing? I was going to make it wine. Will you slap my fat wrist if I do it again?" He had made it wine, at the studio, and gone home sober. After, of all things, kissing her hand.
"Miss Welsh, was your relation to Mrs. Doherty one of close acquaintance? Casual? Just what was it?"
"Kind of close. We'd—oh, visit back and forth."