Mr.Troy made two copies of it before he returned the paper.

One copy he put in his pocket, the other he handed to Isabel.
"Keep it carefully," he said.

"Neither you nor I know how soon it may be of use to you." Receiving the copy from him, she felt mechanically in her apron for her pocketbook.

She had used it, in playing with the dog, as an object to hide from him; but she had suffered, and was still suffering, too keenly to be capable of the effort of remembrance.

Moody, eager to help her even in the most trifling thing, guessed what had happened.