"You will find all that in my papers."
"Is Mr. Livingstone's name among your papers?"
"He was the ringleader. Of course."
"Finally you must appear before a committee of gentlemen at the Fifth Avenue Hotel, and show how you disguised yourself for the three parts of Edith Conyngham, Sister Claire, and the Brand of the gospel-hall."
She burst out crying then, looking from one man to the other with the tears streaming down her lovely face. Curran squirmed in anguish. Arthur studied her with interest. Who could tell when she was not acting?
"Ah, you wretch! I am bad. Sometimes I can't bear myself. But you are worse, utterly without heart. You think I don't feel my position."
Her sobbing touched him by its pathos and its cleverness.
"You are beyond feeling, but you must talk about feeling," was his hard reply. "Probably I shall make you feel before the end of this adventure."
"As if you hadn't done it already," she fairly bawled like a hurt child. "For months I have not left the house without seeing everywhere the dogs that tore Jezebel."
"You might also have seen that poor child whom you nearly drove to death," he retorted, "and the mother whose heart you might have broken."