'The other judges said nothing. The lawyers said nothing. You said nothing,' her mother reminded her wryly.

'I know. I'm so sorry.'

'Don't be silly, child. What you mean is that the man who wants to marry you proved to be less than perfect. He decided not to be heroic.' She shook her head and sighed. 'Do not fall into the trap of looking for a perfect husband. Women of your age often do. You'll never find him. Consider also, my child, if a husband were perfect, you'd have to be perfect too.'

'But ...'

'You saw a moment of cowardice?'

'Yes. I suppose so.'

'Which I call discretion.'

'I know. But ...' Betty was not sure how to explain it, the silence that had fallen upon Peter at that moment in the court. It was not so much what he had done as the insight she had suddenly gained, just then, for the first time, of his inner nature. There was a wariness there, a calculation, a readiness, behind all his talk, to make deep compromises. 'It was something', she said uncertainly, 'in his nature ...'

'Thank God.' Alice sighed. 'Perhaps he will survive.'

'But my father did not compromise. He did what was right.'

'Against my wishes. To further his own ambition. And your father was on the winning side. That makes men bold. Until, of course, he lost and had to run away.'

'Yet what of right and wrong, Mother? Are they not important?'

'Oh, yes, child. Of course they are. It's not in doubt. But there is something else equally important. As I get older, I wonder if it is not more so.'

'Which is?'

'God's gift to Solomon, Betty. Wisdom.'

'Ah. I see.'

'Don't marry Peter unless you both have a little wisdom.' Her mother smiled at her very sweetly. 'You'll be surprised how easy it is to be good if you are wise.'

'You must be very wise, Mother.'

Alice laughed quietly. 'How fortunate, when I'm to lose my head this afternoon.'

None of them said anything after that for a little while, each sitting silently with her thoughts.

Finally, it was neither Betty nor her mother, but Tryphena who spoke. 'They say', she said thoughtfully, 'that after a head is severed, life does not instantly depart; but the head remains conscious for a moment or two. It may blink or even try to speak.'

This was greeted with silence.

'Thank you, dear,' Alice said softly, after a pause. 'You are a great comfort to me.'

A further short silence ensued before Alice slowly got up. 'I am ready to end my life now, my dear children, for I have nothing more to say. Let me embrace you, then you should go. I find I am a little tired.'