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"Oh, I don't know," replied Patricia easily. "She's kind, anyway. I think if she were thin, people wouldn't find her half bad. Fat people never seem quite as human as the rest of us." "What are you saying, Dido?" asked Battersea, his feeble intellect scared by the fierce gestures and the unknown tongue. Elinor promised, smiling at Patricia's vehemence, and went off with her canvas, securely wrapped against curious eyes, held firmly in one gray-gloved hand..
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"Oh, that was on the first night, sir," she hastened to explain. "It was put on his head when in the room where he fell, sir. The doctor, sir, says as it ain't safe to take it away yet." This remark put the matter beyond all doubt. The girl, by her own admission, had been hypnotized by the negress, and, while in the trance state, with her will at the mercy of the other woman, she had killed her lover. Morally speaking, it was Dido, in the person of Isabella, who was the assassin. However, the major had learned all that he wished to know, and not wishing to pursue the subject, turned the conversation by explaining that Etwald was coming in a few minutes. Mrs. Dallas rose up in a cold fury. "He's an awfully good sort, if he is queer and stubby," she said, pausing to hide her parcel beneath her stand until the propitious moment. Elinor nodded mutely and clasped Patricia's two hands in her own. Bruce took Patricia's other hand in his strong, warm grasp and the three stood for a silent second as much apart from the gay, noisy scene as though a curtain had dropped between them..
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