Again, without venturing to speak, Winthrop nodded.
Mannie smiled with pride. “Everybody tells me so,” he said. “Well, she did it. That’s what she did for me. And, I can tell you,” he said simply, sincerely, “there ain’t anything I wouldn’t do for her. I guess that’s right, hey?” he added.
The eyes of the cruel cross-examiner, veiled under half-closed lids, were regarding the boy with so curious an expression that under their scrutiny Mannie, in embarrassment, moved uneasily. “I guess that’s right,” he repeated.
To his surprise, the District Attorney rose from his comfortable position and, leaning across the table, held out his hand. Mannie took it awkwardly.
“That’s all right,” he said.
“Sure, it’s all right,” said the District Attorney.
From the hall there was the sound of light, quick steps, and Mannie, happy to escape from a situation he did not understand, ran to the door.
“She’s coming,” he said. He opened the door and, as Vera entered, he slipped past her and closed it behind him.
Vera walked directly to the chair at the top of the centre table. She was nervous, and she was conscious that that fact was evident. To avoid shaking hands with her visitor, she carried her own clasped in front of her, with the fingers interlaced. She tried to speak in her usual suave, professional tone. “How do you do?” she said.
But Winthrop would not be denied. With a smile that showed his pleasure at again seeing her, he advanced eagerly, with his hand outstretched. “How are you?” he exclaimed. “Aren’t you going to shake hands with me?” he demanded. “With an old friend?”