“I couldn't help doing that.”
“I don't say you could. I don't judge the facts at all. I leave them altogether to you; and you shall say what a man in my position ought to say to such a man as you have shown yourself.”
“No, I will say.” The door into the adjoining room was flung open, and Agatha flashed in from it.
Her father looked coldly at her impassioned face. “Have you been listening?” he asked.
“I have been hearing—”
“Oh!” As nearly as a man could, in bed, General Triscoe shrugged.
“I suppose I had, a right to be in my own room. I couldn't help hearing; and I was perfectly astonished at you, papa, the cruel way you went on, after all you've said about Mr. Stoller, and his getting no more than he deserved.”
“That doesn't justify me,” Burnamy began, but she cut him short almost as severely as she—had dealt with her father.
“Yes, it does! It justifies you perfectly! And his wanting you to falsify the whole thing afterwards, more than justifies you.”
Neither of the men attempted anything in reply to her casuistry; they both looked equally posed by it, for different reasons; and Agatha went on as vehemently as before, addressing herself now to one and now to the other.