Peggy Admaston, wringing her hands, her face a white wedge of anguish, the pallor dreadfully accentuated by the burnished masses of her dark hair, almost stumbled down the steps of the witness-box. Mr. M'Arthur and her solicitor—a little confused knot of people, indeed—hastened up to her, and with a grim face Sir Robert Fyffe, not looking in the girl's direction, arranged his papers and spoke earnestly to his junior.
The scene was one of indescribable excitement.
It was as though a thunderbolt had fallen, and people looked at each other with pale, questioning faces.
The hum died down for an instant, as the weeping woman was led gently from the court.
Then it recommenced louder than ever, mingled with the shuffling of innumerable feet.
CHAPTER VII
Directly the President had risen, Society streamed out into the great hall of the Law Courts.
Innumerable motor broughams and private carriages were waiting in Fleet Street, and despite the dullness of the afternoon the eager photographers of the illustrated papers were waiting to get snap-shots of celebrated people as they passed from the sordid theatre of Court No. II. en route for afternoon tea and scandal.
Henry Passhe had an engagement, and, saying good-bye to Colonel Adams, hurried away. The other remained in the big central hall for a moment or two looking round to see if he could find an acquaintance.