“She isn’t. What makes you thinks so?”
“I’m quite sure she doesn’t want to know her, even if she gets the verdict.”
“Well, of course all this sort of thing is—it’s very far away from Rosamund.”
“You don’t mean to say you doubt Mrs. Clarke?”
“No, but——”
“Surely if she’s innocent she’s as good as any other woman.”
“I know, but——I suppose it’s like this: there are different ways of being good, and perhaps Mrs. Clarke’s way isn’t Rosamund’s. In fact, we know it isn’t.”
Daventry said nothing more on the subject; he began to discuss the case in all its bearings, and presently dwelt upon the great power English judges have over the decisions of juries.
“Mrs. Clarke gave her evidence splendidly on the whole,” he said. “And Hadi Bey made an excellent impression. My one fear is that fellow Aristide Dumeny. You didn’t hear him, but, of course, you read his evidence. He was perfectly composed and as clever as he could be in the box, but I’m sure, somehow, the jury were against him.”
“Why?”