“Nor any one else until the defendant called you?”
“No.”
“That is all.”
Mr. Bourke sprang to his feet, his nostrils dilating, his fine face quivering with unassumed scorn and indignation.
“You admit that you perjured yourself the other day?”
“I could not make up my mind to—”
“Never mind what you had not made up your mind to do. You admit that you perjured yourself?”
“Yes,” gently.
“That in other words you lied.”
“Yes, sir.” Her voice was like the quiver of a violin.