"I must speak to you," he said.
"You know everything?" she repeated.
"I do," he said. "I am glad you came to mother and told her. It is true I suspected much. You know that passage in Miss Keys's handwriting which I told you about some time ago, and the identically same passage in the newspaper article which was supposed to be yours?—to a great extent my eyes were opened at that time, but not completely."
"You look very, very angry," she said.
"I am angry," he answered; "but, I think I can say with truth, not with you."
"With Bertha?"
"Please do not mention her name."
"But I have been to blame: I have been terribly weak."
"You have been terribly weak; you have been worse. You have done wrong, great wrong; but, Florence—may I call you by your Christian name?—winter comes in every year, but it is followed by spring, and spring is followed by summer, and in summer the roses bloom again, and the time of roses comes back, Florence, and it will come back even to you."
"No, no," she said, and she began to sob piteously.