“When hunters have caught the fox,” she said, “do they leave well alone and never hunt again? In war, when a soldier comes through a battle safely, does he leave well alone and never go into action again? Does the huntsman who is nearly caught by a lion leave well, and lions, alone?” “This is different,” said her uncle doggedly. “But I don’t understand it. If what you say is right, then I am wrong and have been wrong all my life. I am wrong and the police are right.” “Of course, they’re right,” said Gregori; “what rubbish you are talking.” “The police are right?” she asked in open-eyed astonishment. “Of course they are right. They must protect society. In five years’ time, when I am settled on my little estate in Spain and my house is burgled do you imagine I shall not call in the police?” “I know they are right in their way,” she said, as if she were speaking her thoughts aloud, “but we are right, too.” “We cannot both be right,” said Colonel Westhanger. “I asked you some time ago,” she said, turning to him, “which was the better life--the dull life or ours. They cannot both be better. The elementary conditions cannot change. That life must be the best, or ours.” “That life is best,” said the Colonel decisively. She looked at him steadily. “Then why have you let me live this?” she asked. “You cannot change me. I cannot change. I cannot!” she said with vehemence and the men noted with amazement the emotion she displayed. “Nothing can change me!” Gregori reached out and took her hand, but she snatched it away. “I will tell you what can change you, little girl,” he said undeterred by the rebuff, “love can change you. Give me a chance.” She looked at him and laughed in his face. “Will you be good or bad, honest or dishonest? You will only be a half man, living two lives. Marry you! And am I to go into witness boxes to testify against your burglar? And prosecute your poachers? I am living now, what I believe to be the truth. I believe I have the right to match my wits against the world and take, by my intelligence, what the old robber barons took by brutal strength. If I pass to the other side I should be a liar, living a life in which I did not believe. I am going on.” “Then you will go on by yourself.” “Will I?” she asked softly. “Go out and find somebody who thinks as you think if you can,” sneered Gregori; “you will be obliged to live a lie, anyway. You will never meet a man who believes in stealing, who believes in fraud and who will go on so believing, until he is an old man. You will never meet a man on the other side of life who would trust you if he knew you, and he _would_ know you unless you--went on lying.” He laughed. “You are in a cleft stick, my little friend, and if you take my tip you will stick to the friends who know you.” He laughed again.