Finally he went away and left me alone with her. 'Jenny,' I said, 'sometimes I believe you are mad so far as your own interests are concerned.' 'No, Will--only crafty. Now listen a little. I have one firm, strong, powerful friend--I mean Lord Brockenhurst. If a woman wants a man to remain in love with her, she must keep him off. He knows all about me, he says: he has made up the prettiest tale possible. And he actually believes it.' 'Made up a tale, Jenny?' 'It was a very pretty story that he wrote called the "Case of Clarinda," This is a prettier story still. It appears that I am the lost and stolen child of noble parents. My birth is stamped upon my face. Never a gipsy yet was known to have light hair like mine, and blue eyes like mine. I have been brought up in ignorance of my parentage, by a woman of dishonest character who stole me in infancy. She made me, against my wish (for a person of my rank naturally loathes employment so menial) an Orange Girl of Drury Lane Theatre. Then I rose above that station by the possession of parts inherited, and became an actress and the Toast of the Town. The woman clung to her pretended daughter still. Then I left the stage in order to be married: when I found my husband little better than a sordid gambler, I left his house and opened the Assembly-room: the woman, for her own safety, made, unknown to me, a storehouse of my garrets. That is his story. But the end is better still. My true nobility of soul, inherited from my unknown illustrious ancestors, prompts me to plead Guilty in order to save this pretended mother. Now, Will----' 'How does the story help?' 'Because it has already got abroad. Because it will incline everybody's heart to get me saved.' 'Yes--but an acquittal is so easy.' 'Will, you can never understand what it means to belong to such a family as mine. Suppose I get my acquittal. Then--afterwards----' 'What will follow afterwards?' 'Do you think that they will let me return to the stage? I must face the revenge of the family--the family of St. Giles's. Through me the Bishop and the Captain have been put in pillory and are now in prison. They belong to the family--my family, and I have brought them to ruin--I myself. One of themselves. Can they forgive me? Nay, Will, I was brought up among them: it is their only point of honour. Can I expect them to forgive me? Never--until--unless----' She stopped and trembled. 'Unless--what?' 'Unless I pay for it, as I have made those two rogues pay for it. Unless I pass through the fiery furnace of trial and sentence, even if it leads me to the condemned cell. After that, Will, I may perhaps look for forgiveness.' A man must be a stock or a stone not to be moved by such words as these. 'Oh, Jenny!' I said, 'you have brought all this upon yourself--for me.'