"Well—you know—it was before I had any idea she was a hypothesis. I thought she was real because of the ring."
"My ring! Fancy!... But I'll tell you about my ring presently. Tell me what you were thinking...."
"Why—what I said before!"
"But what was it?"
"Do you know, I think it was only a sort of attempt to get a little sleep. You were so fearfully on my conscience, and it made it so much easier to bear.... Only it worried me to think that perhaps she might turn round and say:—'This was no fault of mine. Why should I bear for life the burden of other people's sins?' ... If she was a perfect beast—beast, you know!..."
"The hypothesis would not have been a perfect beast. She would have been a perfect lady, and Mrs. Bailey would have attested it. She would have pointed out the desirability of a sister's love—at reasonable intervals; visits and so on—for a man with his eyes poked out. She might even have gone the length of insinuating that the finger of Providence did it...."
"Now you are talking nonsense again. Do be serious!"
"Well—let's be serious! Suppose you tell me what it was you were thinking that made the existence of that very dry and unsatisfying hypothesis such a consolation!"
"I should like to tell you—only I know I shall say it wrong, and you will think me an odd girl; or unfeeling; which is worse."
"I should do nothing of the sort. But I'll tell you what I should think—what I have thought all this time I have been hearing your voice—I merely mention it as a thing of pathological interest...."