No?
Ah, well! Here is a snapshot I managed to get of her once.

That is her.

Exactly as she stood in the box--over-dressed--in elaborate crape, with a bonnet which once had contained pink roses, and to which a remnant of pink petals still clung obtrusively amidst the deep black.
"She would not look at the prisoner, and turned her head resolutely towards the magistrate.

I fancy she had been fond of that vagabond husband of hers: an enormous wedding-ring encircled her finger, and that, too, was swathed in black.

She firmly believed that Kershaw's murderer sat there in the dock, and she literally flaunted her grief before him.
"I was indescribably sorry for her.