"Bunny," said she, "I want to make it quite clear to you why you're
going. You think it's because you know something horrible about me. But
it isn't. You don't know anything about me. You've only been listening
to some of the people in the hotel. They don't know anything about me
either. They've never met me in their lives before. But they've been
thinking things and saying things, and you've swallowed it all because
you wanted to. You're so desperately keen on making out there's
something bad about me. Of course, you might have made it out; you might
have proved all sorts of things against me. But you haven't. That's my
whole point. You haven't proved a thing, have you? If you were my
husband, and wanted to get rid of me, you'd have to trump up some
evidence, wouldn't you?"

"There is no need to trump up evidence. I'm acting on my instinct and
belief."

"Oh, I know you believe it all right."

"I can't help what I believe."

"No, you can't help it. You can't help what you want. And you wouldn't
have wanted it if you hadn't been so furiously unhappy. I was furiously
unhappy myself once. That's why I understand you."

"It is five-and-twenty minutes past seven, Mrs. Tailleur."

"And in five minutes you'll go. And you won't hear a word in my defence?
You won't? Why, if I'd murdered somebody and they were going to hang me,
they'd let me defend myself before they did it. All I was going to say
was--supposing everything you said was true, I think _you_ might have
made allowances for me. You can't? I was harder driven than you."

"No two cases could well be more different."

"Once they were the same. Only it was worse for me. All your temptations
are bottled up inside you. Mine rushed at me from inside and outside
too. I've had all the things you had. I had a strait-laced parson for my
father--so had you. I was poked away in a hole in the country--so were
you. I had little sisters--so had you. My mother sent me away from home
for fear I should harm them." Her voice shook. "I wouldn't have harmed
them for the world. I was sent to live with an old lady--so were you. I
was shut up with her all day, till I got ill and couldn't sleep at
night. I never saw a soul but one or two other old ladies. They were
quite fond of me--I made them. I should have died of it if it hadn't
been for that. Then--do listen, Bunny--something happened, and I broke
loose, and got away. You never had a chance to get away, so you don't
know what