Carleigh felt dazed. Nina's viewpoint was very puzzling at times.
"And yet I understand," he said, seizing on the most obvious end of the tangle. "I don't suppose I'd—you see I have been so close to desperation myself—I don't suppose I'd care, either, if—" But he got no further.
Nina hooked her fingers together tightly behind her head.
"I wouldn't think such thoughts if I were you," she said quite gravely. "You know if you do, the chance comes, and then you do something—and God—only God—will ever measure you by what you really did mean."
Then she looked at him very intently and went on with great impressiveness both of tone and emphasis: "I did give a most awful jab with that sharp thing, and the cartridge exploded and killed my husband, and—I was glad. So, of course, I am a murderess at heart. Don't you see?"
"Yes, I see," said Carleigh somberly.
"And that was my crime," she continued—"that I wanted to do it. And the results haven't mattered so much. What matters is that I wanted to do it. That's all that matters. All that can ever matter."
"I understand," said the man, his voice so low that the words were barely articulate.
There was a long, grim silence which grew oppressive.
"It's years ago, is it not?" he asked then.