Peggy laughed. "Yes, Sir John," she said, and as she did it there was a little ripple of amusement round the crowded court.
Of course, everybody knew that the judge who was trying this case had met the Admastons over and over again.
Every one there, with the exception of the people in the gallery, was a member of what is called society. Peggy, in her innocent simplicity, could not quite differentiate between Sir John Burroughes, who was trying the case of her innocence or guilt, and Mr. M'Arthur or Sir Robert Fyffe, K.C., M.P. She was bewildered. She had met all these men at dinner-parties or receptions. She still thought that this was all a kind of weird game. She did not realise that Sir Robert Fyffe was about to hunt her to the death of her reputation, or that Sir John Burroughes—the President—would give his judgment without fear or favour.
As a matter of fact, there was a little ripple of laughter right through the court when she addressed the President as "Sir John."
Sir Robert Fyffe continued his examination. "Very lucky, Mrs. Admaston," he said grimly. "And did Mr. Collingwood's luggage make the same mistake as yours?"
"Yes," Peggy answered.
"And the luggage belonging to Lord Ellerdine and Lady Attwill had the intelligence to go straight to Chalons?"
"Yes," Peggy answered again.
"Didn't it strike you as rather odd that your luggage should not have been registered?"
Peggy tried to recollect. "No, it didn't," she said. "It struck my maid as odd, I remember."