Just at this moment, when he was considering what would be the most
generous thing to do, she seemed to nerve herself to speak to him, and
in a low and measured voice she said, "Yes, I will tell you. I have had
a letter this morning from Mr. Roscorla. He asks me if it is true that
you are paying me such attention that people notice it; and he asks me
if that is how I keep my promise to him."

Something like a quiver of rage passed through the young man at this
moment, but his teeth were kept firmly together. She did not look up to
his face.

"That is not all. I must tell you that I was deeply shocked and grieved
by this letter; but on looking back over the past six weeks I think a
suspicious person might have been justified in complaining to Mr.
Roscorla. And--and--and, Mr. Trelyon, did you see that dried flower in
my Prayer-book last night?"

Her resolution was fast ebbing away: he could see that her hands were
clasped piteously together.

"Yes, I did," he said boldly.

"And oh what could you have thought of me?" she cried in her distress.
"Indeed, Mr. Trelyon, it was all a mistake. I did not keep the flower--I
did not, indeed. And when I thought you had seen it I could have died
for shame."

"And why?" he said in a way that made her lift up her startled eyes to
his face. There was a strange look there, as of a man who had suddenly