“I wish so, too,” she responded, and as she flashed a glance at me, I had a glimpse of what it might mean to be friends with Florence Lloyd without the ugly shadow between us that now was spoiling our tete-a-tete.

Just that fleeting glance held in it the promise of all that was attractive, charming and delightful in femininity.  It was as if the veil of the great, gloomy sorrow had been lifted for a moment, and she was again an untroubled, merry girl.  It seemed too, as if she wished that we could be together under pleasanter circumstances and could converse on subjects of less dreadful import.  However, all these thoughts that tumultuously raced through my mind must be thrust aside in favor of the business in hand.

So though I hated to, I began at once.

“I am sorry, Miss Lloyd, to doubt your word, but I want to tell you myself rather than to have you learn it from others that I have a witness who has testified to your presence in your uncle’s office that fateful Tuesday night, although you have said you didn’t go down there.”

As I had feared, the girl turned white and shivered as if with a dreadful apprehension.

“Who is the witness?” she said.

I seemed to read her mind, and I felt at once that to her, the importance of what I had said depended largely on my answer to this question, and I paused a moment to think what this could mean.  And then it flashed across me that she was afraid I would say the witness was Gregory Hall.  I became more and more convinced that she was shielding Hall, and I felt sure that when she learned it was not he, she would feel relieved.  However, I had promised Louis not to let her know that he had told me of seeing her, unless it should be necessary.

“I think I won’t tell you that; but since you were seen in the office at about eleven o’clock, will you not tell me,—­I assure you it is for your own best interests,—­what you were doing there, and why you denied being there?”

“First tell me the name of your informer;” and so great was her agitation that she scarcely breathed the words.

“I prefer not to do so, but I may say it is a reliable witness and one who gave his evidence most unwillingly.”

“Well, if you will not tell me who he was, will you answer just one question about him?  Was it Mr. Hall?”

“No; it was not Mr. Hall.”

As I had anticipated, she showed distinctly her relief at my answer.  Evidently she dreaded to hear Hall’s name brought into the conversation.

“And now, Miss Lloyd, I ask you earnestly and with the best intent, please to tell me the details of your visit to Mr. Crawford that night in his office.”

She sat silent for a moment, her eyes cast down, the long dark lashes lying on her pale cheeks.  I waited patiently, for I knew she was struggling with a strong emotion of some sort, and I feared if I hurried her, her gentle mood would disappear, and she might again become angry or haughty of demeanor.