MARK. What is she doing?
ANDR. Making a public confession.
MARK. Public confession—of what?
ANDR. You’ll be sure to hear all about it, so I may as well tell you myself. Perhaps it was my fault, perhaps I neglected her. All my time is given to Mr. Feversham in the library here. While I was buried in my work, and sometimes staying here half the night with Mr. Feversham, a scoundrel ruined my girl. Of course my only thought was to hide it. Was I wrong?
MARK. Go on. Tell me all.
ANDR. Well, right or wrong, I sent her away to the other end of England. Her child only lived a few weeks. And I brought her back home thinking it was all hushed up.
MARK. But it became known?
ANDR. Yes. Little by little, things began to leak out. Well, you may blame me if you like—I lied about it; and the more lies I told, the more I had to tell to cover them. Mr. Feversham heard of it and questioned us. Like a fool I lied to him. It wasn’t like lying, it was like murdering the truth to tell lies to him. And she had to lie, too. Of course he believed us and defended us against everybody. And then we daredn’t tell him the truth.
MARK. Go on. What else?