She hoped fervently that Martin had not divulged his crush to Brown. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. He talked at the blackboard in a pleasant, very slightly lisping voice with a curious spontaneity, and was sometimes very clumsy in his exposition, and sometimes very vivid. It was not only Leonardo who had instilled in her this distrust of men. ‘Very well, then. Moreover, atrociously and inexorably, he allowed it to appear ever and again in horrible gleams that he suspected there was some man in the case. ’ She counted off on her fingers. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked.
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