From the window he saw The Tigress faring toward Copeley's! Then somebody was coming? Some political high muckamuck, probably. ’ ‘She again?’ enquired his hostess, her delicate brows rising ‘I beg your pardon, ma’am. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. She was not afraid of violence, but she was afraid of something mean, some secondary kind of force. I don’t defend it.
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