The following day, however, Wolvert reappeared, his debonair, ironic spirit of raillery unquenched. There was an unaccustomed pallor on his dark face and it was noticeable that he held one arm stiffly, but to Madame Cimmino's solicitous queries he responded only with a petulant shrug.
Throughout the morning meal he kept up a running fire of facetious comment directed with suave impertinence at Betty and she seized the first opportunity to retire to her work in the library. She had anticipated this attitude on his part but her nerves were beginning to play her false and she wondered despairingly how long the crisis would be delayed. For the first time she felt a doubt of herself; not that her resolution should falter but lest her strength fail under the strain and at the crucial moment sheer weakness rob her purpose of its fulfillment.
Mrs. Atterbury followed her into the library as she seated herself before the desk.
"Not that this morning, my dear." She shook her head with a slow smile. "The letters must wait. Have you ever been in a courtroom, Betty?"
"No." The girl turned to her, wonderingly. "There is a county court house at home, but I have never been inside it. Do people go here—women, I mean—unless——?"
She faltered and Mrs. Atterbury completed the question for her.
"Unless they are prisoners or witnesses, you mean? Indeed, yes! There are seats apportioned off for spectators and a particularly grewsome and revolting murder trial will bring out as many feminine auditors as a fashionable divorce. As you know, I personally avoid all horrors, but there is a case now before the Bar which presents some very interesting features to a student of human nature. A poor wretch named Huston is on trial for the murder of his wife, who by all accounts richly deserved to be done away with. Would you mind running down there for an hour this morning, my dear? Do you think you could venture into the presence of a murderer without succumbing to hysterics?"
"I think so," the girl responded quietly. "In all probability I may have been in the presence of one before this, without knowing it."
"What a strange thought!" Mrs. Atterbury eyed her keenly. "You have an odd philosophy all your own, as I have discovered; but what put such an idea into your head, Betty!"
"The very people one passes in the street may have murder in their hearts or upon their consciences. Who can tell?" Betty paused and drew a deep breath. "Consider the number of murder mysteries which are never solved; this Breckinridge case, for instance."