"Yes. All my handkerchiefs are marked. I think I had it in my hand when I was in the Square, but I can't be sure. It is of no consequence. There are plenty of girls named Florence. How did you cut your hand?"
"With some broken glass. That's of no consequence. It is only a scratch." The exertion and haste he had made in scraping the wax off Reginald's boots had started the blood.
"Let me bind it up. Oh, Dick, you are our good angel! Dear Dick! Reginald likes you so much! But he had an idea that you didn't care for him."
"I care for him very much, Florence."
"And do you know," she said, almost gaily, so happy was she in the prospect of Reginald's speedy recovery, and of removing the cloud of misery she had brought upon her parents, "he had another idea--but I won't mention that."
"Yes, do, dear. Remember, you are to hide nothing from me."
"Well, he had an idea that you were fond of me."
"He is right. I am very fond of you, Florence."
"I know that, dear. But in another way, he meant. You understand."
"Yes, dear cousin, I understand."