"You think you will be convicted?"
"Sure of it. So is my lawyer; I made him practically own it last time he was here. He wouldn't say how long I shall get, though—I suppose it's impossible to forecast. Three days, or three months, or three years, either's on the cards. It's a thoroughly sentimental case, and I've no doubt Mrs. Trent will appeal strongly to the sensibilities of the jury. But the law isn't sentimental, praise the pigs!"
"I wish you would tell me exactly what happened at Grasmere."
"Why, I did, didn't I? Trent came down spoiling for a fight, and I set out to tame his savage breast. I soon had him drinking out of my hand, and then he began to be confidential. I stood it as long as I could, Denis simmering like a kettle in the background, and then I up and shied the first thing that came to hand at his head. You read the report of the inquest, didn't you? It was all there, bar that last exchange of courtesies. I believe I called him a filthy swine."
"Why?"
"Because he was one, to be sure."
"What had he been saying?"
"Really, do you think that's a nice question for a young lady?"
"I was only thinking it might have been something inexcusably bad."