She looked down, toying with the telegraph form. “I should have thought,” she said, “that that mention of my poor accomplishments would have been sufficiently illuminating.”
“Pardon me, then,” he answered, “for being explicit. You are threatened, I am to assume, with a loss of livelihood?”
“Yes, utter,” she said low.
“Very well,” he answered. “Then you are to understand, please, that we will endeavour to compensate you in proportion as our estimate of the wrong you have suffered tallies with yours.”
“Compensate!” she exclaimed.
“I mean,” he said, “with all respect for your independence. You shall work for your living—if you desire it, at the Agency itself.”
She glanced at him swiftly, and away. There were signs of tears in her beautiful eyes.
“I can only acknowledge such consideration, such generosity,” she said, “with a full confession of the truth. Would you wish to hear it?”
“I seek it perpetually,” he answered, “and from many lips. If it is an ugly truth here, even yours shall not redeem it or win its pardon.”
She blushed deeply, and half averting her face, held out to him the telegram which had been responsible for her seizure.