had been thrown during the last twenty-four hours, he felt
something of the pungency of life, the thrill of new and
appealing surroundings, as he sat in his high-backed chair,
sipping his wonderful wine, eating almost mechanically what was
set before him, fascinated through all his being by his strange
company.

For three days he had cast occasional glances at this man, seated
in the criminal dock with a gaoler on either side of him, his
fine, nervous features gaining an added distinction from the
sordidness of his surroundings. Now, in the garb of
civilisation, seated amidst luxury to which he was obviously
accustomed, with a becoming light upon his face and this strange,
fascinating flow of words proceeding always from his lips, the
man, from every external point of view, seemed amongst the chosen
ones of the world. The contrast was in itself amazing. And then
the woman! Francis looked at her but seldom, and when he did it
was with a curious sense of mental disturbance; poignant but
unanalysable.

It was amazing to see her here, opposite the man of whom she had
told him that ghastly story, mistress of his house, to all
appearance his consort, apparently engrossed in his polished
conversation, yet with that subtle withholding of her real self
which Francis rather imagined than felt, and which somehow seemed
to imply her fierce resentment of her husband's re-entry into the
arena of life. It was a situation so strange that Francis,
becoming more and more subject to its influence, was inclined to
wonder whether he had not met with some accident on his way from
the Court, and whether this was not one of the heated nightmares