"Miss Bloodgood!" Amazement leaped into the young wife's tired, brown eyes. "She did not tell me she was coming—but that's just like her—she never tells half the good things she does. She's a friend—indeed, Shirley's a good friend."
There was an embarrassing pause in which both were silent. Apparently she was nerving herself to go on. Presently courage came, and she said:—
"Will you tell me, please, what my husband's chances are?"
"Every man is supposed to be innocent until he is proven guilty.... But first as last, I may as well inform you, Mrs. Challoner, that I can do nothing, absolutely nothing for you. Your husband must stand trial!"
"Yes, yes, I know. But you don't quite understand. The man was not himself. Surely you must know that! Let him live, Mr. Murgatroyd; he's worth saving. Give him time—a chance. He'll be good—I shall make him good. I have tried, and I shall continue to try all the harder...."
Murgatroyd sat motionless. His profile was toward Mrs. Challoner. It was a clean-cut profile, and upon its contour there was no sign of yielding. After a while he looked up and said:—
"I am very sorry for you, Mrs. Challoner, and I dislike intensely to hurt your feelings. But do you realise that your husband ... shot this man in a quarrel over——"
Mrs. Challoner quickly cut him short.
"That woman! What do I care for that! You don't know what my husband is to me! I love him no matter what he has done. Besides, it was all my fault. Let me tell you how it was. Laurie wanted money—his money was gone—he had spent it all, and——"
Murgatroyd held up his hand.