She had sent word by his lawyer that she believed in his innocence and
that she would do all she could for him, but he wanted more than that.
He wanted to see her - to feast his hungry eyes on her - to hold her
hand, to - Oh, well, what was the use? he wearily asked himself. Would
the horrible tangle ever be straightened out? He shook his head and
resumed his pacing of the rooms - for there were two at his disposal.
He was weary to death of the dismal view to be had through the barred
windows.

"Did you see him?" asked her aunt, when Viola, much dispirited, returned
home.

"No, and I suppose you're glad of it!"

"I am. There's no use saying I'm not."

"Aunt Mary, I think it's perfectly horrid of you to think, even for a
moment, that Harry had anything to do with this terrible thing. He'd
never dream of it, not if he had quarreled with my father a dozen times.
And I don't see what they quarreled about, either. I'm sure I was with
Harry a good deal of the time before the game, and I didn't hear him
and my father have any words."

"Perhaps, as it was about you, they took care you shouldn't hear."

"Who says it was about me?"

"Can't you easily guess that it was, and that's why Harry doesn't want
to tell?" asked Miss Mary.