Then Capes’ footsteps approached. In the chapel she sang with an open-lunged gusto that silenced Ann Veronica altogether, and in the exercising-yard slouched round with carelessly dispersed feet. He knew that tragedy was as blind as justice, that it struck the child and the grown-up impartially. She paused. Horrible memories of things seen beneath the microscope of the baser forms of life crawled across her mind and set her shuddering with imagined irritations. Any natural fineness would be numbed by drink. You hurt the child. Poor Ben was not so fortunate. Sydney sprang up. Standing on tiptoe, on a joint-stool, placed upon the bench, with his back to the door, and a clasp-knife in his hand, this youngster, instead of executing his appointed task, was occupied in carving his name upon a beam, overhead.
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