‘You will observe, sir,’ said Flinders, in a somewhat insolent tone, ‘that the evidence which the witness has been so ready to adduce is incomplete. There is another link between her hands and mine.’ ‘You may reserve that point for your defence on your trial,’ rejoined the magistrate. ‘There is quite sufficient evidence for your committal.’ There was already a movement to let Dolores be taken away by her uncle and aunt, so as to spare her from any reproach or impertinence that Flinders might launch at her. She was like some one moving in a dream, glad that her aunt should hold her hand as if she were a little child, saying, as they came out into the street, ‘Very clearly and steadily done, Dolly! Wasn’t it, Uncle Regie?’ ‘Yes,’ he said, absently. ‘We must look out, or we shan’t catch the 4.50 train.’ He almost threw them into a cab, and made the driver go his quickest, so that, after all, they had full ten minutes to spare. It made Dolores sick at heart to go near the waiting and refreshment-rooms where she and Constance had spent all that time with Flinders; but she could not bear to say so before her uncle, and he was bent on getting some food for Lady Merrifield. ‘Not soup, Regie; there might not be time to swallow it. A glass of milk for us each, please; we can drink that at once, and anything solid that we can take with us. I am sure your mouth must be dry, my dear.’ Very dry it was, and Dolores gladly swallowed the milk, and found, when seated in the train, that she was really hungry enough to eat her full share of the sandwiches and buns which the colonel had brought in with him; and then she sat resting against her aunt, closed her eyes, and half dozed in the rattle of the train, not moving in the pause at the stations, but quite conscious that Colonel Mohun said, ‘Not a spark of feeling for anybody, not even for that man! As hard as a stone!’ ‘For shame, Regie!’ said her aunt. ‘How angry you would have been if she had made a scene.’ ‘I should have liked her better.’ ‘No, you wouldn’t, when you come to understand. There’s stuff in her, and depth too.’ ‘Aye, she’s deep enough.’ ‘Poor child!’ said Lady Merrifield, tenderly. And then the train went on, and the noise drowned the voices, so that Dolores only partly heard, ‘You will see how she will rise,’ and the answer, ‘You may be right; I hope so. But I can’t get over deliberate deceit.’ He settled himself in his corner, and Lady Merrifield durst not move nor raise her voice lest she should break what seemed such deep slumber, but which really was half torpor, half a dull dismay, holding fast eyes, lips, and limbs, and which really became sleep, so that Dolores did not hear the next bit of conversation during the ensuing halt. ‘I say, Lily, I did not like the fellow’s last question. He means to give trouble about it.’ ‘I was sorry the other name was brought in, but it must have come sooner or later.’