“I was afraid--I fancied you looked paler. You seem changed.” “So I am,” said she, seriously. “Answer me what I shall ask, but tell me frankly.” “That I will; what is it?” “You and Loyd have quarrelled--what was it about?” “What a notion! Do you imagine that the silly quizzing that passes, between young men implies a quarrel?” “No matter what I fancy; tell me as candidly as you said you would. What was the subject of your disagreement?” “How peremptory you are,” said he laughing. “Are you aware that to give your orders in this fashion implies one of two things--a strong interest in me, or in my adversary?” “Well, I accept the charge; now for the confession.” “Am I right, then, dearest Florence?” said he, ceasing to row, and leaning down to look the nearer at her. “Am I right, then, that your claim to this knowledge is the best and most indisputable?” “Tell me what it is!” said she, and her pale face suddenly glowed with a deep flush. “You guessed aright, Florence, we did quarrel; that is, we exchanged very angry words, though it is not very easy to say how the difference began, nor how far it went I was dissatisfied with him. I attributed to his influence, in some shape or other, that I stood less well here--in _your_ esteem, I mean--than formerly; and he somewhat cavalierly told me if there were a change I owed it to myself, that I took airs upon me, that I was haughty, presuming, and fifty other things of the same sort; and so, with an interchange of such courtesies, we grew at last to feel very warm, and finally reached that point where men--of the world, at least--understand discussion ceases, and something else succeeds.” “Well, go on,” cried she, eagerly. “All is told; there is no more to say. The lawyer did not see the thing, perhaps, in the same vulgar light that I did; he took his hat, and came over here. I followed him, and there’s the whole of it.” “I think he was wrong to comment upon your manner, if not done from a sense of friendship, and led on to it by some admission on your part.” “Of course he was; and I am charmed to hear you say so.” She was silent for some time, leaning her head on her hand, and appearing deep in thought. “Now that I have made _my_ confession, will you let me have one of _yours?_” said he, in a low, soft voice. “I’m not sure; what’s it to be about?” “It’s about myself I want to question you.” “About yourself! Surely you could not have hit upon a sorrier adviser, or a less experienced counsellor than I am.” “I don’t want advice, Florence, I only want a fact; and from all I have seen of you, I believe you will deal fairly with me.” She nodded assent, and he went on: