“Then you’d say, Corrie,” said Mr. Staple-Craven, as they all sat down to dinner on Sunday, evening ... now comes flattery, thought Miriam calmly--nothing mattered, the curtains were back, the light not yet gone from the garden and birds were fluting and chirruping out there on the lawn where she had played tennis all the afternoon--at home there was the same light in the little garden and Sarah and Harriett were there in happiness, she would see them soon and meantime, the wonder, the fresh rosebuds, this year’s, under the clear soft lamplight. “You’d say that no one was to blame for the accident.” “The cause of the accident was undoubtedly the signalman’s sudden attack of illness.” Pause. “It sounds,” thought Miriam, “as if he were reading from the Book of Judgment. It isn’t true either. Perhaps a judgment can never be true.” She pondered to the singing of her blood. “In other words,” said one of the younger men, in a narrow nasal sneering clever voice, “it was a purely accidental accident.” “Purely,” gurgled Mr. Corrie, in a low, pleased tone. “They think they’re really beginning,” mused Miriam, rousing herself. “A genuine accident within the meaning of the act,” blared Mr. Craven. “An actident,” murmured Mr. Corrie. “In that case,” said another man, “I mean since the man was discovered ill, not drunk, by a doctor in his box, all the elaborate legal proceedings would appear to be rather--superfluous.” “Not at all, not at all,” said Mr. Corrie testily. Miriam listened gladly to the anger in his voice, watching the faint movement of the window curtains and waiting for the justification of the law. “The thing must be subject to a detailed inquiry before the man can be cleared.” “He might have felt ill before he took up his duties--you’d hardly get him to admit that.” “Lawyers can get people to admit anything,” said Mr. Craven cheerfully, and broke the silence that followed his sally by a hooting monotonous recitative which he delivered, swaying right and left from his hips, “that is to say--they by beneficently pursuing unexpected--quite _unexpected_ bypaths--suddenly confront--their--their examinees--with the truth--the Truth.” “It’s quite a good point to suggest that the chap felt ill earlier in the day--that’s one of the things you’d have to find out. You’d have, at any rate, to know all the circumstances of the seizure.” “Indigestible food,” said Miriam, “or badly cooked food.” “Ah,” said Mr. Corrie, his face clearing, “that’s an excellent refinement.” “In that case the cause of the accident would be the cook.” Mr. Corrie laughed delightedly. “I don’t say that because I’m interested, but because I wanted to take sides with him,” thought Miriam, “the others know that and resent it and now I’m interested.” “Perhaps,” she said, feeling anxiously about the incriminated cook, “the real cause then would be a fault in her upbringing, I mean he may have lately married a young woman whose mother had not taught her cooking.”