The kissing of the book struck her as particularly odd, and then the policemen gave their evidence in staccato jerks and stereotyped phrases. She tightened her bandage and sat back, biting her lip. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. Couldn’t make head nor tail of that note of yours. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. Yes, yes; that was all very well in ordinary cases; but yonder was a soul in travail, if ever she had seen one.
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