What could I say or do?
These have been weeks of tedious horror and pain.

With the exception of Colonel Bunnion, I have kept myself aloof from my fellow creatures in the hotel, even taking my meals in my own rooms, not wishing to be stared at as the hero of the scandal that convulsed the place.

And with regard to Colonel Bunnion shall I be accused of cynicism if I say that I admitted him--not to my confidence--but to my company, because I know that it delighted the honest but boring fellow to prove to himself that he could rise above British prejudice and exhibit tact in dealing with a man in a delicate position?
For, mark you, all the world--even those nearest and dearest to me as I soon discovered--believed that the wife of the man who was murdered before my eyes was my mistress.

Colonel Bunnion was kind, and he meant to be kind.

He was a gentleman for all his wearisomeness, and his kindness was such as I could accept.