He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. The Wastrel, his eyes full of humorous evil, stood inside the room. ‘Ah, grandpére. "Mr. “I must take them,” she said, to help herself over her own incredulity. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. The room in which this interview took place had a sordid and miserable look. Annabel had been here then. The blue jowl, the fat-lidded eyes—now merry, now alert, now tungsten hard—the bullet head, the pudgy fingers and the square-toed shoes were all in conformation with the doctor's olden mental picture. “I always get off here and lean over that rail for a bit. "Ninny! What did we know about Father, except when he was around the house? But where is the girl? She said something about having tea with us. That Capes should love her seemed beyond the compass of her imagination. I have always hated it.
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