Then a beautiful face was smiling into mine--a white hand, on which rich jewels shone, was held out to me, a voice sweeter than any music I had ever heard, said: "You are welcome to Dutton, Mr.Ford.My husband will be completely happy now." Great Heaven! how could this woman be a murderess--the beautiful face, the clear, limpid eyes--how could it be?
No sweeter mouth ever smiled, and the light that lay on her face was the light of Heaven itself.

How could it be?
She seemed to wonder a little at my coldness, for she added: "I cannot tell you how pleased I am to see you, and Lance has thought of nothing else during the last week." I wonder that I didn't cry out, "You are the woman who drowned the little child off the Chain Pier." It was only the sight of Lance's face that deterred me.

I had some vague, indistinct notion of what those words would be to him.
"What is the matter, John ?" asked Lance, impatiently.

"The sight of my wife's face seems to have struck you dumb." "It must be with admiration, then," I said, making a desperate effort to recover myself.

"I could almost think I had seen Mrs.Fleming's face before." She looked at me frankly, and she laughed frankly.
"I have a good memory for faces," she said; "and I do not remember to have seen yours." There was no shadow of fear or of any effect at concealment; she did not change color or shrink from me.
Lance laughed aloud.
"I wonder no longer at your being a bachelor," he said; "if the sight of a beautiful face produces such a strange effect on you.