“Who is Mr. Thompson?” said the girl. She was deep in a study of her little drawing.
“He's Mr. Marsh's nephew, Mr. Percy Thompson.”
The girl, absorbed in the study of her drawing, now put an unexpected question.
“Has your husband lost an arm?”
“No,” she said, “he never had any sort of accident.”
A great light came into the girl's face. “Then I believe you,” she said. “I believe every word.... I think your husband is innocent.”
The girl was aglow with an enthusiastic purpose. It was all there in her fine, expressive face.
“Now,” she said, “tell me about this nephew, this Mr. Percy Thompson. Could we by any chance see him?”
“It won't do any good to see him,” replied the woman. “He is determined to convict my husband. Nothing can change him.”
The girl went on without paying any attention to the comment. “Where does he live—you must have heard?”