What was the use for me to attempt to explain? It was worse than folly. I had told Lilian so many stories, without regard to their consistency, that she knew not what to believe. I was disgusted with myself.
“I don’t see where you got so much money, either, Paley,” she added.
“Do you think I stole it?” I asked, somewhat severely.
“I’m afraid you did,” she answered, with a shudder.
“You are?”
“When I think of it, I am really afraid you did. Here we are in London under an assumed name. All your papers call you Charles Gaspiller. You told me you had over thirty thousand dollars too.”
“I should have had more if I had not lost any,” I replied, in rather a surly tone.
“Tell me the whole truth, Paley. Let me know the worst. If my husband is a—”
“A what?”
“A defaulter, a thief. Let me know it,” said she, with a burst of agony.