Coroner Black made a hasty step toward the door, but Thorne detained him.
“Suppose you sum up the case to the jury,” he suggested, and resumed his seat.
CHAPTER V
DOROTHY DEANE, “SOCIETY EDITOR”
“GOOD AFTERNOON, Mr. Williams.” The managing editor of the Washington Tribune twisted about in his revolving-chair, and his frown changed into a smile of welcome at sight of his society editor standing in the doorway, a roll of soiled copy clutched in one hand, while a much blue-penciled daily newspaper dangled from the other.
“Come in, Miss Deane,” he said, pointing toward a chair by his desk. “How are you feeling today after last night’s gayety at the White House?”
“Rather wintry, thank you.” A twinkle in Dorothy Deane’s eyes belied her serious expression. “Your compositors spoiled my beauty sleep.”
“What’s their latest offense?”
“This—” She spread the morning newspaper before him, and pointed to a paragraph in the middle of the second column, beneath the sub-heading: “Beauty at the White House.” The sentence read: “Mrs. Anson Smith, wife of Senator-elect Smith, wore a handsome string of pearls.”
“Beauty unadorned,” quoted the managing editor dryly. “Your description would fit nine out of ten women of the ultra-smart set of today.”
“But it is not my description,” retorted Dorothy hotly. “Here’s my copy, perfectly legible,” displaying it. “The compositors simply did not set up the remainder of the sentence. If you could have heard Mr. Smith’s language to me on the telephone this morning—”