So I am glad your name is Viola." "It was my mother's name," she said quietly, her eyes downcast, "and I am not sorry you like it." She stirred the coffee in her cup, watching the bubbles rise to the surface.

"I feel more confidence in you than I did, because you have been so honest about yourself." "I have told you the truth.

I think I comprehend one trait, at least, of your character--you would never again trust one who had deliberately deceived you." She did not remove her eyes from the cup, nor appear to note my interruption, but continued gravely: "I must tell my story to someone; I can fight fate alone no longer.
Perhaps I may not confess everything, for I do not know you well enough for that, but enough, at least, so you will no longer suspect that I--I am a bad woman." "I could never really believe that." "Oh, yes, you could.

I have read in your face that my character puzzles you.

You invited me to drink a cocktail to try me.