“It was,” she admitted. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. ‘I did not think so. ” She glanced into his blue eyes wearily. This fruit was McClintock's particular pride. She got to the driveway and was semi-surprised to see that his car was gone. She was aware of the body of the court, of clerks seated at a black table littered with papers, of policemen standing about stiffly with expressions of conscious integrity, and a murmuring background of the heads and shoulders of spectators close behind her. Chairs were overturned. Conscience was always digging sudden pits for his feet and common sense ridiculing his fears. Then he stood up and hailed a fiacre. In addition, the Fadden Dance business, all out of proportion, occupied the whole foreground of her thoughts and threw a color of rebellion over everything.
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