The man looked as though he would have liked to deny it, but could not. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. Critically, she stared at her own features. The assassination, as you call it, was, obviously, the vengeance of a kinsman of the injured lady, who no doubt was of good family, upon her seducer. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. She leaned back in her chair.
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