“Did your daughter reciprocate Mr. Brainard’s affection?”
“My daughter would not have accepted his attention had she not liked and admired him,” she responded evasively, and Black lost all patience.
“Kindly give a direct answer to my question,” he exclaimed harshly. “Were your daughter and Mr. Brainard engaged?”
“I believe there was an understanding to that effect,” she admitted sullenly. “But until I gave my consent”—a shrug completed the sentence, and Black instantly asked:
“Why did you withhold your consent, madam?”
“You are laboring under a mistaken idea,” replied Mrs. Porter coldly. “My consent was only asked yesterday, and I very properly told Mr. Brainard that I needed a night in which to think it over.”
The coroner stroked his chin as he contemplated Mrs. Porter, then observing the jurors’ air of interest, asked more briskly: “When did you make Mr. Brainard’s acquaintance?”
“About a year ago, and until he went to South America he was a frequent visitor at my house.” Mrs. Porter glanced involuntarily at the clock as it chimed the hour, and the coroner rose.
“Please give me the names of your dinner guests,” he said, picking up a pencil and drawing a pad toward him.
“Captain and Mrs. Mark Willert, Miss Margaret Spencer, my daughter Millicent, my nephew, Mr. Hugh Wyndham, Dr. Noyes, Mr. Brainard—let me see, that makes eight,” checking them off on her finger. “I have a few intimate friends in to dinner every week on Millicent’s account. I do not want her brother’s distressing illness to cast too great a shadow on my daughter’s young life.”