"Are you disengaged?" he said. "I should like to speak to you for a
moment or two."

"I am certainly disengaged to you," she replied. "What can I do for
you?"

"Come back to the drawing-room; the lamps are still alight. I won't keep
you many minutes."

They both re-entered the beautiful room. The night was so warm that the
windows were open; the footman appeared and prepared to close them, but
Trevor motioned him back.

"I will shut up the room," he said; "you need not wait up."

The man withdrew, closing the door softly behind him.

Bertha found herself standing close to Trevor. She looked into his face
and noted with a sense of approval how handsome and manly and
simple-looking he was. An ideal young Englishman, without guile or
reproach. He was looking back at her, and once more that peculiar
expression in his honest blue eyes appeared.

"I want to consult with you," he said: "something is giving me a good
deal of uneasiness."

"What is that, Mr. Trevor?"

"When I was in town I met Miss Florence Aylmer."

"Did you really? How interesting!" Bertha dropped lightly into the
nearest chair. "Well, and how was the dear Florence? Had she got a berth
of any sort? Is she very busy? She is terribly poor, you know."

"She is disgracefully, shamefully poor," was his answer, spoken with
some indignation, the colour flaming over his face as he spoke.

Bertha did not say anything, but she looked full at him. After a
moment's pause, she uttered one word softly and half below her breath,
and that word was simply: "Yes?"

"She is disgracefully poor!" he repeated. "Miss Keys, that ought not to
be the case."

"I do not understand you," said Bertha.

"May I explain?" He dropped into a chair near her, and bent forward; his
hands were within a couple of inches of hers as they lay in her lap.

"I have had a talk with Miss Aylmer, and find that she is my friend's
niece. My benefactress, the lady who has adopted me, is aunt by marriage
to the girl, who is now struggling hard to earn a living in London.
Between that girl and starvation there is but a very thin wall. I am in
a false position. I ought to have nothing to do with Mrs. Aylmer.
Florence Aylmer is her rightful heiress; I am in the wrong place. I
thought I would speak to you. What would you advise?"

"How chivalrous you are!" said Bertha, and she looked at him again, and
her queer big eyes were full of a soft light, a dangerous light of
admiration.

He said to