She is asked next:
"When and where did you see him last?"
A quiver passes over the pale, beautiful face.
"Last night, at or near nine o'clock, near this spot," she falters, yet standing suddenly erect, with stately, lily-like grace, and a proudly-poised head.
"Was he living or dead?"
"Living, of course," haughtily.
"Mr. Clyde was your lover?" the coroner interrogated.
"I have not said so," she says, flashing him a haughty look.
"The fact is well known," he answers. "You went away to marry him last night?"