"Well," said Trevor, "have I come too early?"
"Oh, no," said Florence, "it is past eleven," and she looked listlessly at the clock.
He tried to take her hand. She put it immediately behind her.
"You have come to ask me a question, have you not?" she said.
"I have. You promised me your confidence last night."
"I did not promise: I said I might give it."
"Am I to expect it?"
"What do you want to know?"
"I want to know this," said Trevor. He took out of his pocket a copy of the General Review. He opened it at the page where Florence's article appeared. He then also produced from his pocket-book a tiny slip of paper, a torn slip, on which, in Bertha Keys's handwriting, was the identical sentence which had attracted so much attention in the Review.
"Look," he said.