Sheppard is Constance Trenchard," replied Jonathan, maliciously. “This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. He saw the tragedy on the boy's face; but he was merciless. Wood bore up with great fortitude against the shock, attended the inquest, delivered his evidence with composure, and gave directions afterwards for the funeral, which took place on the day but one following—Sunday. But he died when he was a child—long ago—long ago—long ago. He was shifting to reach his own weapon, which had fallen in between the pews at the back. When Ann Veronica came into the study she found every evidence of a carefully foreseen grouping about the gas fire. If he laid his own suspicions boldly before the girl, and in the end the boy came clean, he would always be haunted by the witless cruelty of the act. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women.
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