She sighed, and whispered: “I do not know—I do not know. If you will only tell me?”
“You have been informed of us, it seems,” said Gilead. “You will have learnt, in that case, of the inviolately confidential nature of our mission, and of the necessity it is under of demanding truth for its first desideratum. You will answer my questions or not as you please; but you must not be offended when I tell you that it is impossible for us to move in any matter unless in the clear light of understanding. Am I to ask, then?”
“O, if you will!” she murmured.
“Very well,” said Gilead—“your name?”
“It is—Nightingale; Mrs Nightingale.”
He bowed his head gravely. “I have your advertisement in mind. I recall also your allusion to someone’s misdeeds. Was your choice of the male pronoun accidental or intentional?”
“It was intentional.”
“Am I to know to whom it referred?”
“It referred to my husband.”
He was very concerned for her. She appeared to feel acutely the shame of her admission.