No, it wasn't put on. There never yet was a man who bullied me that didn't rouse the fighter in me. I swore to myself that this old thief-catcher shouldn't rattle me.
"Doesn't it occur to you that under the circumstances a full confession might be the very best thing for you? I shouldn't wonder if these people would be inclined to be lenient with you if you'd return the money. Doesn't it occur—"
"It might occur to me if I had anything to confess—about this purse."
"How long since you've seen Mrs. Edward Ramsay?" He rushed the question at me.
I jumped.
"How do you know I've ever seen her?"
"I do know you have."
"I don't believe you."
"Thank you; neither do I believe you, which is more to the point. Come, answer the question: how long is it since you have seen the lady?"
I looked at him. And then I looked at my glove, and slowly pulled the fingers inside out, and then—then I giggled. Suddenly it came to me—that silly, little insane dodge of mine in the Bishop's carriage that day; the girl who had lost her name; and the use all that affair might be to me if ever—