“No,” she assented, upon reflection. “Then it oughtn’t to have been done.”
He showed no sign of intending to continue, and after a moment of restlessness, she began again.
“If I have been rude or hasty in refusing to hear you, Mr. Libby, I am very wrong. I must hear anything you have to say.”
“Oh, not unless you wish.”
“I wish whatever you wish.”
“I’m not sure that I wish that now. I have thought it over; I should only distress you for nothing. You are letting me say why sentence shouldn’t be passed upon me. Sentence is going to be passed any way. I should only repeat what I have said. You would pity me, but you couldn’t help me. And that would give you pain for nothing. No, it would be useless.”
“It would be useless to talk to me about—loving.” She took the word on her lips with a certain effect of adopting it for convenience’ sake in her vocabulary. “All that was ended for me long ago,—ten years ago. And my whole life since then has been shaped to do without it. I will tell you my story if you like. Perhaps it’s your due. I wish to be just. You may have a right to know.”
“No, I haven’t. But—perhaps I ought to say that Mrs. Maynard told me something.”
“Well, I am glad of that, though she had no right to do it. Then you can understand.”
“Oh, yes, I can understand. I don’t pretend that I had any reason in it.”