"He insulted me. I've explained that to you before."

"That's not all the reason. Jack Lamont could not insult you. I mean,
you would pay no attention to him if only yourself were involved."

"Now, Carlia, don't you begin to philosophize on my reasons for giving
Jack Lamont a licking. He's dead, and let's let him rest in as much
peace as the Lord will allow."

"All right."

"Now, my dear, you feel able to go down and have some supper. Your
father and mother should be told the news, and perhaps I can do that
better than anybody else. I'll go with you, and, if your mother has
something good for supper, I'll stay."

But the girl did not respond to his light speech. She sat very still
by the window. For a long, long time--ages it seemed to her, she had
suffered in silent agony for her sin, feeling as if she were being
smothered by her guilty secret. She could not bring herself to tell it
even to her mother. How could she tell it to anyone eke, certainly not
Dorian. And yet, as she sat there with him she felt as if she might
confide in him. He would listen without anger or reproach. He would
forgive. He--her heart soared, but her brain came back with a jolt to
her daily thinking again. No, no, he must not know, he must never know;
for if he knew, then all would surely be over between them, and then,
she might as well die and be done with it!

"Come, Carlia."