; she must have
suffered inordinately in her prideful affection. She said nothing,
beyond the repeated admonition that he must not sit up into the night.

The next day he forced himself to read to the end the report of the
murder in the _Gazette_. The references to Susan Brundon were as scant
as, evidently, Stephen Jannan could arrange; but her name, her Academy,
were invested with an odious publicity. Jasper Penny saw again that he
was a person of moment; his part in the affair gave it a greatly
augmented importance. Yet now the worst, he told himself, was at an end;
the publicity would recede; after a decent interval he could see Susan.

This mood was interrupted by an imperative communication from
Stephen--he must be in the other's office at eleven o'clock to-morrow.
Nothing more definite was said; but Jasper Penny was not wholly
surprised to see Essie Scofield huddled in a chair at the lawyer's
table. She had made an attempt at the bravado of apparel, but it had
evidently failed midway; her hair hung loosely about a damp brow, the
strings of her bonnet were in disarray, a shawl partially hid a bodice
wrongly fastened. Her face was apathetic, with leaden shadows and dark
lips ceaselessly twisting, now drawn into a petulant line, now drooping
in childish impotence. She glanced at him fleetly as he entered, but
said nothing. Robbed of the pretensions of pride, stripped of feminine
subterfuge, she was appalling. He involuntarily recalled the Essie who
had swept him into a riot of emotion--a vivid and palpitating creature
radiating the exuberance of careless health and youth. She could not, he
calculated, be beyond thirty-seven now. He abruptly ceased his
speculation, turned from her, with a feeling of impropriety. Stephen
Jannan said shortly:

"Al Schimpf will be here. It seemed to me he was the best man to retain.
It's obvious that I can't defend her. You will, of course, require
everything possible done." Essie Scofield shivered. "I don't want to go
into court," she articulated, "and answer all the dreadful questions."
There was a stir without, and a hugely fat man in a black cape fastened
with a silver chain and velvet collar entered. Al Schimpf's face was so
burdened with rolling chins that he disregarded the customary fashion of
whiskers, but a grizzled moustache lay above his well-formed lips, and
an imperial divided his heavy, aggressive chin. He was, evidently, fully
informed of the case before him; for, after