“Well,” she almost shrieked out, dashing away her tears, “and what if I did? I wanted money, and you wouldn’t give it me. I begged you to let me have some, and all you would let me have was twenty pounds. Twenty pounds! After spending thousands on your pictures! I know it was wrong to steal your Romney; I know it was theft. But I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know where to turn. I made up my mind to take the picture, partly to pay my bills, and partly to have my revenge on you for being so mean to me. And Jack found out what I was going to do. And he tried to stop me, but I wouldn’t be stopped. So he helped me instead. The blame is all mine, all mine. He didn’t want to do it. I took the snuff-boxes myself, without his knowing anything about it. I got hold of the keys Miss Pembury used to take care of, and I took the snuff-boxes and put back the keys. There. That’s the story, all, all of it.” Her eyes were dry and burning by this time, and she gazed up boldly, defiantly, at her husband. He was plainly uncertain what to do, what to believe. Lady Sarah pressed her advantage. “Of course I know I’ve done wrong, and I won’t ask you to forgive me. I only ask you to put the blame upon me, and not upon Jack, who only helped me because he couldn’t let me be caught by myself.” Sir Robert made an impatient movement. Such magnanimity made him incredulous. “There’s no excuse for either of you,” he said. “You both knew me.” “Yes, and I knew you wouldn’t help me, for I asked you, and you refused.” “I have never refused to help you. I offered to pay your bills.” “You refused to give me money for myself. You wanted to treat me like a child. You showed that you distrusted me. Well, who is to blame, then, if I showed that I was not to be trusted? I was only treating you as you evidently expected me to treat you, wasn’t I?” Her husband would not look at her. He was puzzled, sick at heart with mistrust much deeper than any he had betrayed to her. Was this all that he had to learn, that these two had combined together to rob him of his picture? That was the question which was agitating him, and to which he dared not as yet seek an answer. The horrible secret which they had kept from him, this theft by which his own wife had, in conjunction with another man, sought to revenge herself upon him and to rob him at the same time, was such an unexpected revelation to the loyal-hearted and generous man, that on learning it he seemed to have stepped into a new world, where everything round him wore a fresh aspect, and where those nearest and dearest to him were transformed into shapes scarcely human. He heard her lame and audacious attempt at defence, and waved his hand as if to ward off a blow. “I can’t argue with you,” he said. “The whole thing is too shocking, too humiliating to us both, to us all.”