"You will forgive me for mentioning this subject?"
"You have not mentioned any subject yet, Mrs. Eustace. I don't know what it is you wish to talk about."
"I am afraid it is very distasteful to you. I am not surprised if it is, but—if you knew everything in connection with it, you might think differently. That is why I want to tell you."
"Yes," he said indifferently, as she paused.
"You do not want to speak of it," she said again. "But I must explain—I ought to have done so directly you came up here. I want to explain my conduct to you when I returned your——"
"There is no need," he interrupted her. "That matter was at an end at once. There is no benefit to be gained by attempting to revive it."
"I do not seek to revive it," she retorted, colouring at his words. "Surely if I wish to set straight what I know is not straight, I am not seeking to revive it? I wish to make one thing clear to you. You have not known Charlie as long as I have. Neither do you know him as well as I do. In the face of the accusations made by that police inspector anything may be said or suspected."
He did not reply, and she went on.
"You, hearing Charlie painted in the blackest colours, are not likely to raise any protest either to yourself or to anyone else. You will rather believe all ill of him and will most likely impute things to him he never did. One thing I do not want blamed on to him. Those letters and things which were sent back to you, I sent—I sent them entirely myself—Charlie did not send them—I sent them."
She looked up at him quickly and then away as though she feared to meet his eyes.