I suppose she must have been satisfied by my sudden gravity because she
looked at me in a friendly manner.
"Yes, Mrs. Fyne," I said, smiling no longer. "I see. It would have been
horrible even on the stage."
"Ah!" she interrupted me--and I really believe her change of attitude
back to folded arms was meant to check a shudder. "But it wasn't on the
stage, and it was not with her lips that she laughed."
"Yes. It must have been horrible," I assented. "And then she had to go
away ultimately--I suppose. You didn't say anything?"
"No," said Mrs. Fyne. "I rang the bell and told one of the maids to go
and bring the hat and coat out of the cab. And then we waited."
I don't think that there ever was such waiting unless possibly in a jail
at some moment or other on the morning of an execution. The servant
appeared with the hat and coat, and then, still as on the morning of an
execution, when the condemned, I believe, is offered a breakfast, Mrs.
Fyne, anxious that the white-faced girl should swallow something warm (if
she could) before leaving her house for an interminable drive through raw
cold air in a damp four-wheeler--Mrs.
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