“Object!” interposed the district attorney. “Objection sustained,” said the Court.
Again Sampson, who was enjoying Mr. Stevens' discomfiture, looked at Miss Hildebrand. Simultaneously eleven other gentlemen sitting in two parallel rows, looked at her. She may have found it too difficult to look at all of them at once, so she confined her gaze to Sampson, who felt in duty hound—as a juror sworn to be fair and impartial—to look the other way as quickly as possible. He was sorry that he was obliged to do this, for there was something in her eyes that warranted quite a little time for analysis.
The cross-examination proceeded. Sampson, resolutely directed his gaze out of its natural channel and devoted a great deal more attention to the witness than he felt that the witness deserved. He could not help feeling, however, that he was treating Miss Hildebrand with unnecessary boorishness. No doubt she looked at him from time to time, and she must have felt a little bit hurt, not to say offended—by his somewhat conspicuous indifference.
Suddenly he pricked up his ears. Mr. O'Brien had put to the witness a question that had something of a personal interest in it.
“James Hildebrand, Jr., lost his wife in 1906, did he not, Mr. Stevens?”
“I don't remember the year.”
“You remember when he was married, however, do you not?”
“I can't say. I think it was in 1888.” The witness had turned a rather sickly green. He spoke with an effort.
“The year after you and he graduated from college, wasn't it?”
“We were in the class of '87.”