ret depths of the hearer's character.
Often depths that he himself is but dimly aware of. And so the
righteous triumph secretly, the lucky are amused, the strong are
disgusted, the weak either upset or irritated with you according to the
measure of their sincerity with themselves. And all of them in their
hearts brand you for either mad or impudent...

I had seldom seen Marlow so vehement, so pessimistic, so earnestly
cynical before. I cut his declamation short by asking what answer Flora
de Barral had given to his question. "Did the poor girl admit firing
off her confidences at Mrs Fyne--eight pages of close writing--that
sort of thing?"

Marlow shook his head.

She did not tell me. I accepted her silence, as a kind of answer and
remarked that it would have been better if she had simply announced the
fact to Mrs Fyne at the cottage. "Why didn't you do it?" I asked
point-blank.

She said: "I am not a very plucky girl." She looked up at me and added
meaningly: "And _you_ know it. And you know why."

I must remark that she seemed to have become very subdued since our
first meeting at the quarry. Almost a different person from the
defiant, angry and despairing girl with quivering lips and resentful
glances.

"I thought it was very sensible of you to get away from that sheer
drop," I said.

She looked up with something of that old expression.

"That's not what I mean. I see you will have it that you saved my life.
Nothing of the kind. I was concerned for that vile little beast of a
dog. No! It was the idea of--of doing away with myself which was
cowardly. That's what I meant by saying I am not a very plucky girl."

"Oh!" I retorted airily. "That little dog. He isn't really a bad
little dog." But she lowered her eyelids and went on:

"I was so miserable that I could think only of myself. This was mean.
It was cruel too. And besides I had _not_ given it up--not then."

Marlow changed his tone.

"I don't know much of the psychology of self-destruction. It's a sort
of subject one has few opportunities to study closely. I knew a man
once who came to my rooms one evening, and while smoking a cigar
confessed to me moodily that he was trying to discover some graceful way
of retiring out of Existence. I didn't study his case, but I had a
glimpse of him the other day at a cricket match, with some women, having
a good time. That seems a fairly reasonable attitude. Considered as a
sin, it is a