"It can't be done," he said. "If I were willing to break the law into pieces, I can't do it."
Lydia's brow darkened. "You mean you won't," she said.
"No," he answered quietly. "I mean just what I say. I can't. Remember you have had two chances to help the girl—at the first complaint, and in your conversation with the judge. Why didn't you do it then?"
Why hadn't she? She didn't know, but she answered hastily:
"I did not understand——"
"You wouldn't understand," he returned, in that quiet, terrible tone that made her think somehow of Ilseboro. "I tried to tell you and you wouldn't wait to hear, and the judge tried to tell you and you wouldn't listen. People don't often get three chances in this world, Miss Thorne."
His tone maddened her, in combination with her own failure. "Are you taking it upon yourself to reprove me, Mr. O'Bannon?" she asked.
"I'm taking it upon myself to tell you how things are," he answered.
"I don't believe it is the way they are," she said.
Angry as she was, she did not mean the phrase to sound as insulting as it did. She meant that there must be some unsuspected avenue of approach; but her quick tone and insolent manner made the words themselves sound like the final insult.