"Why, of course," she said, "we all know—Farvie and Anne and I—we know you never did it."
"Did what?"
"Lost all that money. Took it away from people."
The softness of her voice was moving to him. He saw she meant him very well indeed.
"Lydia," said he, "I lost the money. Don't make any mistake about that."
"Yes, you were a promoter," she reminded him. "You were trying to get something on the market." She seemed to be assuring him, in an agonised way, of his own good faith. "And people bought shares. And you took their money. And—" her voice broke here in a sob of irrepressible sympathy—"and you lost it."
"Yes," said he patiently. "I found myself in a tight place and the unexpected happened—the inconceivable. The market went to pieces. And of course it was at the minute I was asked to account for the funds I had. I couldn't. So I was a swindler. I was tried. I was sentenced, and I went to prison. That's all."
"Oh," said Lydia passionately, "but do you suppose we don't know you're not the only person concerned? Don't you suppose we know there's somebody else to blame?"
Jeff turned on her a sudden look so like passion of a sort that she trembled back from him. Why should he be angry with her? Did he stand by Reardon to that extent?
"What do you mean?" he asked her. "Who's been talking to you?"