"I did not quite believe that of you."
"I could not help it!" I declared, ready to confess that I was an impostor; and as I look back I know that I told the truth when I said I could not help it. I didn't care where the carriage went, nor what the end would be.
"And I trusted you!" The reproach was genuine.
I had nothing to say. My edifice of suspicions had suddenly tumbled about my ears.
"I am sorry; I have acted like a cad. I am one," I said finally.
"I was helpless. One after another the men we trust fail us."
"Madam, I am a wretch. I am not the gentleman you have taken me for. I have had the misfortune to resemble another gentleman."
"I never saw you before in all my life, nor any person that resembles you."
I gasped. This was what the old dramatists called a thunderbolt from heaven. I felt for my wallet; it was still in my pocket. Inconsistently, I grew angry.
"Then, what the devil—!"