"Why not?" Tavernake replied. "It is the truth. I am sorry that
you have been so upset--"

"It is not the truth!"

More sensation! Another unexpected entrance! Once more interest
in the affair was revived. After all, the lookers-on felt that
they were not to be robbed of their tragedy. An old lady with
yellow cheeks and jet black eyes leaned forward with her hand to
her ear, anxious not to miss a syllable of what was coming.
Tavernake bit his lip; it was the girl from the roof who had
entered the room.

"I have no doubt," she continued in a cool, clear tone, "that
Mrs. Fitzgerald's first guess would have been correct. I took
the bracelet. I did not take it for a joke, I did not take it
because I admire it--I think it is hideously ugly. I took it
because I had no money."

She paused and looked around at them all, quietly, yet with
something in her face from which they all shrank. She stood
where the light fell full upon her shabby black gown and
dejected-looking hat. The hollows in her pale cheeks, and the
faint rims under her eyes, were clearly manifest; but
notwithstanding her fragile appearance, she held herself with
composure and even dignity. Twenty--thirty seconds must have
passed whilst she stood there, slowly finishing the buttoning of
her gloves. No one attempted to break the silence. She
dominated them all--they felt that she had something more to say.