With the charming manner of the thoroughbred New York girl Sylvia circled the room. It was refreshing to see her, refreshing to hear the way in which she corroborated what Annandale had said.
“But,” objected Peacock, “you had just gone from his house; what did he go to yours for?”
“To restore a string of pearls.”
“Did he repeat to you anything that he had said to his wife?”
“Had he attempted to I should have refused to listen.”
“Was he drunk?”
“I cannot say. I have never seen anyone in that condition.”
“Did he make any threats regarding Loftus?”
“A gentleman does not make threats.”
“Miss Waldron, I will thank you to answer me directly. Did he or did he not?”
“He did not.”
“You swear to that?”
“I do.”
It was perjury, of course. Yet if a girl may not perjure herself like a lady for the man she loves things have come to a pretty pass. That idea apparently struck Peacock.
“Prior to the defendant’s marriage you were engaged to him, were you not?”
“I was.”