"Is there any objection," repeated Drayton, "to my wandering about a bit? The decorative schemes of these rooms are wonderful. I used to be interested in such things, as a boy. You don't mind?"
"Not at all. Go over toward the eastern side, though, away from Mr. J. S.'s sanctum. And be back here within the half hour."
"I will. Terry, you don't mind if I leave you?"
"Go ahead," assented the Irishman, and Viola nodded abstractedly. She was staring out at that pathetically silent multitude in the Hall of Justice.
As a matter of fact, the lawyer craved solitude for thought. The more time he spent in this Temple of Justice, the more he became convinced of the puerility of their own light-hearted schemes.
Viola's reflections, had he known it, were no shade less gloomy than his own. Quick-brained, intuitive to a degree, the psychic atmosphere of the place, combined with hints picked up here and there, had shaken her assurance to its foundations. She could think of nothing but Drayton's well-nigh certain failure and its inevitable toll of disaster. She herself would then be the promised bride of a man she instinctively loathed, while Drayton-but there she halted, unable to contemplate the hideous fate which once more threatened.
Her reverie was interrupted by her brother. The Loveliest had deserted him temporarily and was engaged with some of her friends across the room. The two Trenmores conversed for some time undisturbed; then Terry drew out his watch.
"Viola, it's 11:45 and Bobby is not yet back. Where can the lad be lingering, do you think?"
Before the girl could reply, Loveliest hurried over to them.
"You must go out into the hall now, big man. You, too, my dear."