Felix Rolleston had secured an excellent seat beside the pretty Miss Featherweight, whom he admired so much, and he was chattering to her with the utmost volubility.

“Puts me in mind of the Coliseum and all that sort of thing, you know,” he said, putting up his eye-glass and starting round.  “Butchered to make a Roman holiday by jove.”

“Don’t say such horrid things, you frivolous creature,” simpered Miss Featherweight, using her smelling-bottle.  “We are all here out of sympathy for that poor dear Mr. Fitzgerald.”

The mercurial Felix, who had more cleverness in him than people gave him credit for, smiled outright at this eminently feminine way of covering an overpowering curiosity.

“Ah, yes,” he said lightly; “exactly.  I daresay Eve only ate the apple because she didn’t like to see such a lot of good fruit go to waste.”

Miss Featherweight eyed him doubtfully.  She was not quite certain whether he was in jest or earnest.  Just as she was about to reply to the effect that she thought it wicked to make the Bible a subject for joking, the Judge entered and the Court rose.

When the prisoner was brought in, there was a great flutter among the ladies, and some of them even had the bad taste to produce opera-glasses.  Brian noticed this, and he flushed up to the roots of his fair hair, for he felt his degradation acutely.  He was an intensely proud man, and to be placed in the criminal dock, with a lot of frivolous people, who had called themselves his friends, looking at him as though he were a new actor or a wild animal, was galling in the extreme.  He was dressed in black, and looked pale and worn, but all the ladies declared that he was as good-looking as ever, and they were sure he was innocent.

The jury were sworn in, and the Crown Prosecutor rose to deliver his opening address.

Most of those present knew the facts only through the medium of the newspapers, and such floating rumours as they had been able to gather.  They were therefore unaware of the true history of events which had led to Fitzgerald’s arrest, and they prepared to listen to the speech with profound attention.

The ladies ceased to talk, the men to stare round, and nothing could be seen but row after row of eager and attentive faces, hanging on the words that issued from the lips of the Crown Prosecutor.  He was not a great orator, but he spoke clearly and distinctly, and every word could be heard in the dead silence.

He gave a rapid sketch of the crime—­merely a repetition of what had been published in the newspapers—­and then proceeded to enumerate the witnesses for the prosecution.