Her Faithful Knight — page 336: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

332 Darcy Finds His Wife. folded in her lap. Nothing seemed to her to matter now. But God help that man if he tried to claim her as his wife! She heard a buzz of talking, then the magistrate’s voice, clear and metallic, speaking in raised tones: “Not Phyllis Knight? Most extraordinary! What is the meaning of this? And who is she, then?” Then a little, thin-faced, elderly woman in black made her way forward from the back of the court, and presently Dorothy heard Cresswell telling the story of Phyllis’ death. : “And my mistress, Miss Dorothy, that is sitting over there, told me I was to say it was her that was dead and not Miss Phyllis, because she was married to a hor. rible, wicked man, and if he thought she was dead he’d let her alone. Miss Dorothy wasn’t in the house when her sister died, and when she found her dead on the floor she was like to go mad. To accuse her of murdering her was the stupidest and wickedest thing I ever heard!” And here, before Cresswell could be brought to book for wandering from the point, Dorothy broke down. To see Darcy’s white, triumphant face and smiling, scarlet lips, to feel the possessive and caressing look from his longing eyes, as they took in greedily every detail of her face and form, stirred in her such a sick repulsion that her senses seemed suddenly to fail her. She swayed in her seat, and would have fallen had not a police officer hurried to support her. Ona few words from the magis- trate she was assisted from the hall, and two hours later, weak and nerveless, she entered a cab with Cresswell and Rosa Read, and drove toward St. John’s Wood amid an unexpected and wholly disconcerting storm of cheering from a crowd collected outside the door of the police- court. Rosa’s delight knew: no bounds. She had artlessly comicloooks (©