"He told me that they were--that they were business messages--secret financial transactions." "Transactions in British lives--oh, they were that! And you knew it." "I did not know it! I did not know it! I did not know it!" She realized too late that the strength of the retort suffered by its repetition. It became nonsense on the third iterance. She grew afraid even to defend herself. Seeing how frightened she was at bay, Mr. Verrinder forebore to drive her to distraction. "Very well, you did not know what the messages contained. But why did you consent to such sneaking methods? Why did you let them use you for such evident deceit?" "I was glad to be of use to them. They had been so good to me for so long. I was used to doing as I was told. I suppose it was gratitude." It was then that Mr. Verrinder delivered himself of his bitter opinion of gratitude, which has usually been so well spoken of and so rarely berated for excess. "Gratitude is one of the evils of the world. I fancy that few other emotions have done more harm. In moderation it has its uses, but in excess it becomes vicious. It is a form of voluntary servitude; it absolutely destroys all respect for public law; it is the foundation of tyrannies; it is the secret of political corruption; it is the thing that holds dynasties together, family despotism; it is soul-mortgage, bribery. It is a monster of what the Americans call graft. It is chloroform to the conscience, to patriotism, to every sense of public duty. 'Scratch my back, and I am your slave'--that's gratitude." Mr. Verrinder rarely spoke at such length or with such apothegm. Marie Louise was a little more dazed than ever to hear gratitude denounced. She was losing all her bearings. Next he demanded: "But admitting that you were duped by your gratitude, how did it happen that your curiosity never led you to inquire into the nature of those messages?" "I respected Sir Joseph beyond all people. I supposed that what he did was right. I never knew it not to be. And then--well, if, I did wonder a little once in a while, I thought I'd better mind my own business." Verrinder had his opinion of this, too. "Minding your own business! That's another of those poisonous virtues. Minding your own business leads to pacifism, malevolent neutrality, selfishness of every sort. It's death to charity and public spirit. Suppose the Good Samaritan had minded his own business! But-- Well, this is getting us no forwarder with you. You carried those messages, and never felt even a woman's curiosity about them! You met Nicky Easton often, and never noted his German accent, never suspected that he was not the Englishman he pretended to be. Is that true?" He saw by the wild look in her eyes and their escape from his own that he had scored a hit. He did not insist upon her acknowledging it. "And your only motive was gratitude?" "Yes, sir." "You never asked any pay for it?" "No, sir." "You never received anything for it?" "No, sir."