One was sitting,
gazing it might be at the fire, a looking-glass, a picture or two, when
suddenly there came a black shadow, something that changed the colour of
things a little, something that obscured certain objects, but scarcely
anything more definite. The yellow brooch was definite, cold, stony eyes
hung a little above it, over those a high white forehead--otherwise merely
a black shadow putting out the fire.
She was in the Roundabout now all the time. How poor Dr. Rossiter fared it
was difficult to imagine, but he cared for Clare as deeply as his wife did
and was quite ready for everything to be sacrificed to her at this crisis
of her history.
Mrs. Rossiter, meanwhile, was entirely convinced that Peter was responsible
for his son's death. Had you suddenly challenged her and demanded her
reasoned argument with regard to this matter she would probably have failed
you--she did not like reasoned arguments--but she would also have been most
sincerely indignant had you called her a liar and would have sworn to her
convictions before a court of law.
"Those Cornishmen" had frightened the poor little thing into fits and it
was only to be expected. Moreover it followed from this that a man who
murdered his only child would most assuredly take to beating his wife
before very long. After that, anything might happen. Peter was on a swift
road to being a "Perfect Devil.
Pages:
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558