"The subject, now," remarked Fran, "naturally returns to Grace Noir."
"Please, Fran!"
"Yes—and I am going to say something to offend you; but honestly, Abbott, it's for your good. If you'll keep holding my hand, I'll know you can stand unpleasant truths. When you hold my hand, it seems to make everything so—so close."
"Everything is!" Abbott declared.
"I'll tell you why you hurt my feelings, Abbott. You've disappointed me twice. Oh, if I were a man, I'd show any meek-faced little hypocrite if she could prize secrets out of me. Just because it wears dresses and long hair, you think it an angel."
"Meaning Miss Grace, I presume?" remarked Abbott dryly. "But what is the secret, this time?"
"Didn't I trust you with the secret that I meant to apply for the position of secretary as soon as Grace Noir was out of the way? And I was just about to win the fight when here she came—hadn't been to the city at all, because you told her what I meant to do—handed her the secret, like a child giving up something it doesn't want."
"You are very unjust. I did not tell her your plan. I don't know how she found it out."
"From you; nobody else knew it."
"She did not learn it from me."