"I do not know."
"Who would know?" Moth asked.
"The servants, or perhaps my daughter."
"That is all," Moth responded; "I desire that Miss Constance Seymour be called, your honor."
She not moving, nor seeming able to move, her father went to her, and taking her hand, led her forward, speaking encouragingly as they made their way through the crowded room.
"What is your name?" Moth asked, upon her being sworn.
"Constance Seymour."
"Do you recognize this bottle, Miss Constance?" Moth asked, and with every show of gentleness and respect, I am bound to say, for which I could not help but feel grateful to the scoundrel.
"Yes, sir."
"What was done with it after Gilbert Holmes' illness?" Moth asked.