She stepped to him and laid her hand on his arm. The
pause hadn't lasted ten seconds.
"Father--" she said.
Vard threw back his head and swept the studio with a sovereign eye.
"The back way, Mr. Vard, the back way," Cornley whimpered. "For God's
sake, sir, don't lose a minute."
Vard transfixed his abject henchman.
"I have never yet taken the back way," he enunciated; and, with a gesture
matching the words, he turned to me and bowed.
"I regret the disturbance"--and he walked to the door. His daughter was at
his side, alert, transfigured.
"Stay here, my dear."
"Never!"
They measured each other an instant; then he drew her arm in his. She
flung back one look at me--a paean of victory--and they passed out with
Cornley at their heels.
I wish I'd finished the face then; I believe I could have caught something
of the look she had tried to make me see in him. Unluckily I was too
excited to work that day or the next, and within the week the whole
business came out. If the indictment wasn't a put-up job--and on that I
believe there were two opinions--all that followed was. You remember the
farcical trial, the packed jury, the compliant judge, the triumphant
acquittal?... It's a spectacle that always carries conviction to the
voter: Vard was never more popular than after his "exoneration"...
I didn't see Miss Vard for weeks. It was she who came to me at length;
came to the studio alone, one afternoon at dusk.
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