"My dear, don't bother your head over what doesn't concern you. Slawson and I understand each other—which is more than you and I do, I'm afraid," the old woman pronounced with biting distinctness.
The meal was barely over when Martha arrived.
"Now, Slawson," Madam Crewe greeted her, "I've sent for you on business, so I want you to stop looking benevolent, if you can, and attend to what this gentleman has to say."
"Yes'm," said Martha.
Mr. Norris adjusted his eye-glasses with professional precision. "Have you ever had any experience with the law, or lawyers?" he asked, regarding her steadfastly through his polished lenses.
"Certaintly, I have. Oncet, I worked out for a lady who got a divorce off'n her husband, on what they call statuary grounds, an' the first she knew, he up an' off, an' married the—statue. He was a railroad magnet. The kind draws more'n more to'm, all the time. So, o' course, the law never so much as laid a finger on'm. An' about two years ago, my little girl, she got run over by a auta, but, though Mr. Frank Ronald he tried to get'm to pay us a little somethin' for our trouble, we ain't seen a cent o' money yet. Oh, yes. I know about the law!"
"I mean, do you understand that when you are brought as a witness before the law, you are held responsible for the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"
Martha cogitated. "No, sir. I can't say I do, that is, did. I never knew the law had so much to do with truth before. But, if you say so, I'm willin' to take your word for it."
Mr. Norris pulled a long upper lip.
"My client, Madam Crewe, has called you here for two purposes. First, she wishes you to be present whilst I ask her granddaughter a few important questions. Second, you and the maid—a—Eunice Youngs, are to write your names as witnesses upon a certain paper I have drawn up for my client. Are you willing to act for Madam Crewe in these matters?"