“Meaning—?”
“You!” she shouted, bouncing on the cushions of the legno and startling all the fleas. “What’s the good of cleverness if a man’s murdered a woman?”
“Harriet, I am hot. To whom do you refer?”
“He. Her. If you don’t look out he’ll murder you. I wish he would.”
“Tut tut, tutlet! You’d find a corpse extraordinarily inconvenient.” Then he tried to be less aggravating. “I heartily dislike the fellow, but we know he didn’t murder her. In that letter, though she said a lot, she never said he was physically cruel.”
“He has murdered her. The things he did—things one can’t even mention—”
“Things which one must mention if one’s to talk at all. And things which one must keep in their proper place. Because he was unfaithful to his wife, it doesn’t follow that in every way he’s absolutely vile.” He looked at the city. It seemed to approve his remark.
“It’s the supreme test. The man who is unchivalrous to a woman—”
“Oh, stow it! Take it to the Back Kitchen. It’s no more a supreme test than anything else. The Italians never were chivalrous from the first. If you condemn him for that, you’ll condemn the whole lot.”
“I condemn the whole lot.”