Prelice nodded. "You mean the prosecuting Counsel."
"Yes! He was fair enough in the beginning and in the middle, but he had no right to rub it into the jury about the knife and about Mona's guilt being so certain. That part should have been left to the time when he addressed the jury, and after the evidence on both sides had been heard."
"I thought it was rather prejudging the prisoner myself, Ned."
Shepworth shuddered. "Don't call Mona a prisoner," he expostulated. "Every time that infernal Belmain alluded to her so, I felt sick."
"It is rough on you undoubtedly," murmured Prelice; and not wanting any more food, for Shepworth's agitation had spoilt his appetite, he turned to the waiter and ordered coffee. Shepworth passed along his cigarette case. "Very rough on you, Ned."
"Oh, don't talk about me," rejoined the barrister, restlessly; "think of Mona, a young girl, gently born and bred, being accused of murder and being put into prison. It's horrible."
"She seemed to me to be the calmest person in Court."
"Because she knows that she is innocent. She's a religious girl too, and firmly believes that God will prove her innocence."
"Well, He will," said Prelice quietly. "I'm not a saint myself, but I know that God looks after us all."
"Yet innocent people have been hanged before now, Dorry!"