"Now, this is cosy," said the widow, "quite what I call friendly. I love these impromptu little meetings; all the stiffness which generally surrounds a first introduction must vanish when four human creatures find themselves face to face with Nature in her grandest aspects. Look at those great rolling waves, Mr. Trevor, and tell me if you ever saw anything finer in its way."
"Oh, mother, don't be a goose," said Florence. Try as she would, she could not help laughing. That laugh settled the matter. Trevor looked into her dancing eyes, noticed how white her teeth were, and, moving a step nearer, sat down by her side.
"Do you know this place well?" he asked.
"It has been my home for the greater part of my life," was Florence's reply.
She felt inclined to be rude to Mr. Trevor. The man who was adopted by Aunt Susan, who was doubtless the chosen and confidential friend of Bertha Keys, could surely have no interest for her! But Trevor had a gentle and very polite manner. It never occurred to him that this somewhat showy-looking girl could dislike his company. He was good-looking himself, and accustomed to being made much of and petted a good deal by women, and beforemany minutes had passed, Florence, in spite of herself, was chatting gaily with him.
She forgot that her mother had manœuvred in the most open and brazen way to secure this introduction; she forgot everything but the pleasure of talking to a fellow-creature, who seemed to understand her sentiments, and also to approve them. When a young man approves of a girl's ideas, when he likes to look into her face and watch the sparkle of her eyes, she must be one in a thousand if she does not find him agreeable, sympathetic, and all the rest.
Presently Trevor suggested that he and Florence should go down on the beach, cross some low-lying rocks, and find a certain pool, which at low water contained the most lovely of sea-anemones to be found anywhere round the coast.
"Oh, come too, mother; come too, Kitty," said Florence, as she jumped to her feet.
"No, my dear, I am much too tired," said Mrs. Aylmer. She clutched at Kitty's skirt as the young girl was about to rise, and pulled her back, to her own astonishment.
"Stay by me, Miss Sharston: I have much to say to you," remarked the widow.
Accordingly Florence and Trevor, Florence well knowing that Kitty had not been allowed to come with her, started on their tour of investigation alone. They found the sea-anemones and chatted about them, and Trevor asked Florence if she would like to begin to make a collection, and Florence began by saying "Yes," but finally refused the tempting offer which Trevor made to help her in the matter.
"I am going to London in a few days," she said.
"To London?" he asked; "now, in this broiling weather?"
"Yes; why not? Don't you like London in August?"
"I never care for London at any time—in August it is particularly detestable," was his reply. "We are going to stay here for a day or two. I think you know Miss Keys; she told me that you were an old friend of hers."
"She was at the same school with me years ago," said Florence, flushing as she spoke. "Oh, do look at that beauty in the corner: a kind of dark electric-blue. What a wonderful creature! Oh, and that rose-coloured one near it! Sea-anemones are like great tropical flowers."
Meanwhile Mrs. Aylmer was consulting with Kitty.
"Shall we or shall we not ask him to supper?" she said. "What do you think?"
"I am sure I don't know," said Kitty. She looked at her companion with those innocent, wide-open grey eyes, which were her greatest charm.
"He has quite taken to Florence; don't you see for yourself?"
"Oh, yes; everyone takes to her," replied Kitty, with enthusiasm; "she is so nice and honest and downright."
Mrs. Aylmer sighed.
"She has had her troubles, poor child; but in the end things may come round in a most wonderful way. Do you know, I like him very much?"
"Like who?" asked Kitty.
"Really, Miss Sharston, you are a little silly—Mr. Trevor, Mr. Maurice Trevor, the adopted son of my wealthy sister-in-law, Susan Aylmer."
"Oh, yes," said Kitty; "I forgot that you were talking about him."
"I was asking you, my dear, if you thought we might invite him to join us at supper."
"Why not?" said Kitty.
"Well, Sukey's temper grows worse and worse. We were going to have a very small supper, not what you could put a man down to; but if he were coming you and I might just whip round to the shrimp-shop and get a lobster: lobster with a nice salad is what young men delight in; and we might get a bottle of claret at the grocer's. If you would carry the lobster, I would bring the claret. It is an enormous expense to go to, but if in the end——"
"Oh, dear," said Kitty, rising. She looked at Mrs. Aylmer, and the colour rose in a delicate wave all over her pretty face. "Oh, I would not," she said; "I don't think Florence would like it—I am certain she would not. Oh, you know her: she will be rude; don't do it, please, please don't."
But if there was one person more determined than another to have her own way, it was the little Mummy. She had only vaguely considered the possibility of asking Mr. Trevor to partake of their humble meal when she first spoke of it; now that Kitty opposed it she made up her mind that by hook or crook she would convey him to their house. What a victory it would be! Susan Aylmer, her rich sister-in-law, waiting and wondering why her handsome and fascinating young protégé did not appear: Bertha Keys finding her meal very dull without him: both these ladies talking about him, and in their hearts of hearts longing for his society: and he all the time in thetiny cottage, partaking of the humble fare of Mrs. Aylmer the less, with the naughty Florence close to his side, and the fascinating Kitty not a yard off. Oh, it was worth a struggle!
Mrs. Aylmer rose to her feet. A good stiff wind was beginning to blow, and she staggered for a moment as it caught her stout little person. Then she raised her voice: "Florence!"
"Yes, mother," said Florence, turning. She was a hundred yards away now, and Trevor was talking in a more fascinating way than ever about sea-anemones and their beauties.
"If Mr. Trevor would come back to supper with us, we should be much pleased to see him. I will expect you, dear, to bring him in, when you have done your little preambulation. So pleased if you will join us, Mr. Trevor."
All these words were shrieked on the sea-breeze. Florence made a reply which did not quite reach her mother's ears. Mrs. Aylmer shouted once more, and then, seizing Kitty's hand, turned in the direction of the little town.
"Now for the shrimp-woman and the grocer's shop," she said; "we must be as quick as possible. Sukey will be in a flurry: but never mind: it is worth the effort."
Poor Kitty had never felt more uncomfortable. Really there were times when the little Mummy was almost unendurable. A lobster was chosen, quite a nice expensive one; Kitty was desired to go to the nearest greengrocer's shop, in order to secure the crispest lettuce and half a pound of tomatoes; the bottle of claret was also bought,and, laden with these spoils, the girl and the elder lady re-entered the tiny cottage.
"Now then, Sukey," called out Mrs. Aylmer, "brisk is the word. I have caught the most charming young man you ever heard of, and he is coming to supper with us."
Sukey stared at her mistress.
"What folly are you up to now, ma'am?" she asked.
"No folly at all, my dear Sukey. Here's six-pence for you; don't say anything about it. Make the salad as only you know how, and trim the lobster. I was considerate, Sukey, and I got things that really will not give you trouble. Kitty, my dear sweet little girl, help me to arrange the table. It will be supper in a bower—quite romantic. The young man will enjoy it; I am certain he will. Dear Flo! what it is to have a mother like me to look after her and see that she does not waste her opportunities."
"But," said Kitty, changing colour as she spoke, "do you really mean——"
"I mean that mum's the word at present," was Mrs. Aylmer's mysterious remark. "Help me, Kitty Sharston, like a good girl, and for goodness sake don't make yourself look too pretty to-night. I don't want him to turn his attention to you, I may as well say so frankly."
Kitty earnestly longed for the moment when she should leave Mrs. Aylmer's cottage.
The supper was prepared, however; everything was arranged; and then the two ladies stood by the window watching for the return of the truants, as Mrs. Aylmer was now pleased to call Florence and Mr. Trevor.
Presently she saw her daughter coming up the somewhat steep path alone.
"Flo, Flo, child, where is he? is he coming?"
"Oh, no, mother," said Florence.
"Did you give him my invitation?"
"I told him he was not to accept it," said Florence. "Oh, dear me, mother, don't be silly. But, I say, what a nice lobster, and I am so hungry."
Meanwhile Trevor went slowly back to the hotel. He had enjoyed his talk with Florence; he liked her brusque way, she did not flatter him, and she was, he considered, a particularly attractive-looking girl. In Mrs. Aylmer's society he was made a great deal of and fussed over, and when that happens to a young man he always enjoys the sort of girl who snubs him by way of contrast. He thought Mrs. Aylmer the less one of the most extraordinary women he had ever met; but as he liked Florence, and was in the mood for a bit of an adventure, he would gladly have accepted her mother's invitation to supper if she had not tabooed it.
"You are not to come," said Florence, looking at him with her wide-open frank dark eyes; "mother is the soul of hospitality, but we are very poor: we have nothing proper to give you for supper, and I for one would much rather you did not come."
"I do not in the least mind what I eat," he said, in a somewhat pleading tone, and he looked full at Florence with his blue eyes.
"Nevertheless, you are not to come; it is only my mother's way: she always goes on like that with strangers. I never allow people to accept her invitations."
After this there was nothing more to be said, and Florence and Trevor bade each other a very friendly good-bye.
When Trevor reached the "Crown and Garter" he found that Mrs. Aylmer and Miss Keys were already at dinner. They had both wondered where he was, and Bertha Keys had been a little anxious and a little uneasy. When he came in, the faces of both ladies brightened.
"What makes you so late?" said Mrs. Aylmer, looking up at him.
"I had a bit of an adventure," he said. He drew his chair to the table. "There was a slight chance of my not coming in to supper at all," he continued. "I met that charming little lady who visited you to-day, Mrs. Aylmer."
"What?" said Mrs. Aylmer, dropping her knife and fork.
"I met her again, and she introduced me to her daughter and to another young lady who is staying with them. By the way, they are your relations, so the little lady told me, and she was very hospitable, and invited me to supper, and I should have been very glad to go if the young lady had not told me that I must not accept her mother's invitation."
Now, these remarks were anything but agreeable to Mrs. Aylmer, and still less did they suit Bertha Keys. Neither lady said anything, however, at the present moment, but each glanced at the other. After a time, Mrs. Aylmer stretched out her hand and touched Trevor on his sleeve.
"I am sorry you have made the acquaintance of Miss Florence Aylmer," she said.
"Sorry? Why?" he asked. "I consider her a remarkably nice girl."
"I regret to have to inform you that she is anything but a nice girl. I will tell you about her another time. It is quite contrary to my wishes that you should have anything to do with her: you understand?"
Trevor flushed. He had a way of looking annoyed at times, and he looked annoyed now. His silken chains sometimes fretted him a great deal. He often wondered whether he had done right in allowing himself to become Mrs. Aylmer's adopted son. Bertha, however, gave him a warning glance, and he said nothing.
Presently dinner was over, and Bertha beckoned to him to join her on the balcony.
"Shall we go out on the sands?" she said. "I have something I want to say to you."
"But Mrs. Aylmer has something to say to me also—something about that particularly nice girl, Miss Florence Aylmer."
"She will not say it to you to-night; she has a headache, and I persuaded her to go early to bed. I quite sympathise with you, too, about Florence; she is one of my greatest friends."
Trevor gave Bertha a grateful glance.
"I am so glad you like her," he said. "I was never yet mistaken about anyone, and I took to her frank ways. She looks like the sort of girl who will never deceive you."
Bertha gave a peculiar smile, which vanished almost as soon as it visited her face.
"Shall we meet, say, in twenty minutes," she said, "just by the pier? I must see Mrs. Aylmer to bed; but I can join you then."
"Very well," he answered.
Bertha left the balcony, and Trevor, lighting a cigar, tried to soothe his somewhat ruffled feelings. He had never liked Mrs. Aylmer less than he did at that moment.
"It is horrid when a woman runs down a girl," he said to himself; "such bad form, and, as to this girl, it is impossible Mrs. Aylmer can know anything against her."
Presently he looked at his watch, and prepared to keep his appointment with Bertha. He liked Bertha Keys very much; she was always jolly and good-tempered, and she often tried to smooth over matters when there was any little difference between himself and Mrs. Aylmer. When he reached the pier he found her waiting for him. It was a moonlight night, and the young couple began to pace up and down.
"What is it?" he said at last. "Have you anything special to say?"
"I know you are in a bad humour, and I am not surprised," she said.
"Listen, Miss Keys," said Trevor. He dropped his cigar, and turned and faced her. "I often feel that I cannot stand this sort of thing much longer: it is like being in chains. I would much rather talk the matter out with Mrs. Aylmer, tell her I am very much obliged to her for her kind intentions with regard to me, but that I would sooner carve out my own career in life and be indebted to no one."
"And how silly that would be!" said Bertha. "But what do you want Mrs. Aylmer to do?"
"To let me go. I feel like a captive in her train; it is not manly. I never felt more annoyed than when she spoke to me as she did this evening. It is horrid when a woman abuses a girl—such bad taste."
"You know how peculiar she is," said Bertha; "but you suit her better than anyone I know. You want her to give you money to allow you to live in town. I am sure I can manage it. I quite understand that you must hate being tied to her apron-strings."
"It is detestable," said the young man; "and if it were not for my own mother, who seems so happy about me, and so grateful to Mrs. Aylmer, I should break with her to-morrow."
"I quite sympathise with you," said Bertha. "You must have money, and you must go to town. You want to read for the Bar: I will see that it is arranged. Mrs. Aylmer is rich, but not rich enough for you to live all your life in idleness. It would break her heart now if you deserted her: she has gone through much."
"What do you mean?"
"I cannot tell you."
"Why does she dislike Miss Florence Aylmer?"
"I would rather not say."
"But she will tell me herself."
"I shall beg of her not to do so."
"By the way," said Trevor, after a pause, "is this girl Mrs. Aylmer's niece?"
"She is her niece by marriage. Mrs. Aylmer's husband was Florence Aylmer's uncle."
"Then in the name of all that is just," cried Trevor impetuously, "why should I have the fortune which is reallymeant for Florence Aylmer? Oh, this is unendurable," he cried; "I cannot stand it. I will tell Mrs. Aylmer to-morrow that I am obliged to her, but that I will not occupy a false position."
"You will do fearful harm if you make such a remark," said Bertha. "Something very sad happened a few years ago, something which I cannot tell you, but——" Bertha's lips quivered and her face was very pale.
"What is it? Having told me so much, you must go on."
Bertha was silent for a moment.
"What has Miss Aylmer done? If there is a frank, open-hearted, nice-looking girl, she is one. I do not care so much for her mother, but Miss Aylmer herself—I defy anyone to throw a stone at her."
"I own that she is a nice girl, a very nice girl; but once, once—well, anyhow, she managed to offend Mrs. Aylmer. You must not ask me for particulars. I want you to be most careful; that is why I have brought you out here to-night. I want you to be most careful to avoid the subject with Mrs. Aylmer. Florence offended her, and she has resolved never to see her and never to speak to her again. She is annoyed at your having made her acquaintance, and I doubt not we shall leave Dawlish to-morrow on that account. Be satisfied that Florence only did what perhaps another girl equally tempted would have done, but it was——"
"It was what? The worst thing you can do is to throw out innuendoes about a girl. What did she do?"
"She was not quite straight, if you must know—notquite straight about a prize which was offered in the school where she was being educated."
"She told me that you were a teacher in the same school."
"Did she?" said Bertha. Her face turned pale, but her companion was not looking at her at that moment. "Ah, yes, poor girl: that is how I happen to know all about it. It was hushed up at the time, and of course Florence has quite retrieved her character. It was nothing whatever but what a girl tempted as she was would do, but it settled her as far as Mrs. Aylmer was concerned, and if you do not wish to bring fresh trouble upon the niece you will avoid the subject with her aunt. That is what I wished to say to you."
"How can I avoid it? It is quite impossible for me to be long with Mrs. Aylmer and prevent her speaking about what she has made up her mind to tell me."
"I have been thinking of that," said Bertha; "the very best thing you can do is to go up to London to-morrow morning."
"I go to London to-morrow?"
"Yes; go away for the present. I will tell her that you have had sudden news of your mother: that she wants to see you; or you can leave her a note to that effect."
"But it would not be true." Trevor darted a keen glance at his companion.
Bertha coloured again.
"It is difficult to manage with people who are as quixotically straight as you are," she said, after a pause; "I want you to keep away for your own sake. If what I have suggested does not please you, think of something else."
"I will tell her that I wish for a change: that is true enough," he answered; "but how will that help me? When I come back, she will tell me the thing you do not wish me to hear about Miss Aylmer."
"Oh, I never said I did not wish you to hear it: I think it would be better for your peace of mind not to hear it: that is all. I have said that it was a little shady: that it happened years ago: that Florence has quite retrieved her character."
Trevor stamped his foot impatiently.
"I will not go away to-morrow," he said, after a pause. "I should like to see Miss Florence Aylmer again. I will ask her to tell me frankly what occurred some years ago."
"You will?" said Bertha, and now her face looked frightened.
"Yes," he answered, looking full into her eyes; "I will. She is perfectly honest. She can excuse herself if necessary. Anyhow, she shall have the chance of telling her own story in her own way."
It was by no means the first time that Bertha Keys had found herself in a quandary. She was very clever at getting out of these tight corners: of extricating herself from these, to all appearances, impossible situations; but never had she been more absolutely nonplussed than at the present moment.
When she and Florence had both left Cherry Court School her prospects had been dark. She had been dismissed without any hope of a character, and had, as it were, to begin the world over again. Then chance put Mrs. Aylmer the great in her way. Mrs. Aylmer wanted a companion, a clever companion, and Bertha was just the girl for the purpose. She obtained the situation, managing to get references through a friend, taking care to avoid the subject of Cherry Court School, and never alluding to Florence Aylmer.
Mrs. Aylmer was very sore and angry just then. She disliked Florence immensely for having disgraced her; she did not wish the name of Florence Aylmer to be breathed in her presence; she was looking around anxiously for an heir. With Bertha Keys she felt soothed, sympathised with, restored to a good deal of her former calm. By slow degrees she told Bertha almost all of her history; in particularshe consulted with Bertha on the subject of an heir.
"I must leave my money to someone," she said; "I hate the idea of giving it to charities. Charity, in my opinion, begins at home."
"That is does, truly," answered Bertha, her queer green-grey eyes fixed on her employer's face.
"And Florence Aylmer being completely out of the question," continued Mrs. Aylmer, "and Florence's mother being about the biggest fool that ever breathed, I must look in another direction for my heir."
"Why not adopt a boy?" said Bertha, on one of these occasions.
"Adopt a boy? a boy?"
"Well, a young man," said Bertha, colouring.
"What a very extraordinary idea!" was Mrs. Aylmer's response. She looked withering things at Bertha, and this young lady found herself more or less in disgrace for the next few days. Nevertheless, the idea took root. Mrs. Aylmer, having found girls failures, began to think that all that was desirable might be encompassed in the person of a boy.
"It would be nice to have a boy about the house. They were cheerful creatures. As they grew to be men, they were more or less a protection. Boys, of course, had none of the small ways of girls. A deceitful boy was a creature almost unknown."
So Mrs. Aylmer thought, and she began to look around for a suitable boy to adopt and leave her money to. No sooner did she seriously contemplate this idea than the opportunity to adopt a very special boy occurred to her.She had an old friend, a great friend, a woman whom as a girl she had really loved. This woman was now a widow: she was a certain Mrs. Trevor. She had married an army man, who had died gloriously in battle. He had won his V. C. before he departed to a better world. His widow had a small pension, and one son. Mrs. Trevor happened just about this very time to write to Mrs. Aylmer. She told her of her great and abiding sorrow, and spoke with the deepest delight and admiration of her boy.
"Send Maurice to spend a week with me," was Mrs. Aylmer's telegraphic reply to this epistle.
In some astonishment, Mrs. Trevor packed up her boy's things—he was a lad of eighteen at this time—and sent him off to visit Mrs. Aylmer in her beautiful country place.
Maurice Trevor was frank, innocent, open as the day. He pleased the widow because he did not try to please her in the least. He liked Bertha Keys because all apparently amiable people suited him, and Bertha certainly did look distinctly amiable. Soon she got into his confidence, and he talked of his future. He wanted to go into the army, as his father had done before him. Bertha suggested that he should tell his desire to Mrs. Aylmer. This Maurice Trevor would not think of doing. He spent a week, a fortnight, a month with the widow, and went back to his mother, having secured a great deal more than he bargained for in the course of his visit.
Mrs. Aylmer now wrote to Mrs. Trevor, said that she liked Maurice very much, that she had no heir to leave her money to, and that if Maurice really turned out quite to her satisfaction she would make him her future heir. He must live with her during the holidays; he must giveup his mother's society, except for a very short time in the year; he must be thoroughly well educated; must, on no account, enter the army; and must have a University education.
These terms, generous in themselves, were eagerly accepted by the all but penniless widow. She had some difficulty, however, in persuading young Trevor to, as he expressed it, sell his independence. In the end her wishes prevailed. He went to Trinity College, Cambridge, took honours there, and now at four-and-twenty years of age was to a certain extent his own master, and yet was more tied and fettered than almost any other young man he knew. To tell the truth, he hated his own position. Mrs. Aylmer was capricious; she considered that he owed her undying gratitude: that he should only do what she wished. He had little or no control of her affairs, Bertha Keys being the true mistress.
At the time when this story opens he felt that he could scarcely stand his silken fetters any longer.
Bertha, as she stood now in the moonlit window of her little room at the "Crown and Garter," thought over Maurice Trevor, his future prospects, and his past life. She also thought about Florence.
"From the way he spoke to-night," thought this astute young woman, "very, very little would make him fall in love with Florence. Now, that is quite the very last thing to be desired. It would be a sort of revenge on Mrs. Aylmer, but it cannot be permitted for a single moment. They must not meet again. There are several reasons against that. In the first place, it would not suit my convenience.I mean to inherit Mrs. Aylmer's property, either as the heiress in my own person or as the wife of Maurice Trevor. It is true that I am older than he, but I have three times his sense: I can manage him if another girl does not interfere. He must leave here immediately. I must make some excuse. His mother is not quite so quixotic as he is; I must manage things through her. One thing, at least, I am resolved on: he must not hear the story of Florence—at least, not through Florence herself: he must not meet her again, and Mrs. Aylmer must not tell him the story of what occurred at Cherry Court School."
Bertha thought a very long time.
"If he really falls in love with Florence, then he must no longer be Mrs. Aylmer's heir," she said to herself; "but he shall not meet her. I like him: I want him for myself; when the time comes, I will marry him. He shall not marry another woman and inherit all Mrs. Aylmer's property."
Bertha stayed up for some time. It was between two and three in the morning when at last she laid her head on her pillow. She had gone through an exciting and even a dangerous day, but that did not prevent her sleeping soundly. Early in the morning, however, she rose. She was dressed before seven o'clock, and waited anxiously for eight o'clock, the time when she might send off a telegram. She procured a telegraph form and carefully filled it in. These were the words she wrote:—
"Make some excuse to summon Maurice to London at once. Must go. Will explain to you when writing. Donot let Maurice know that I have telegraphed.—Bertha Keys."
"Make some excuse to summon Maurice to London at once. Must go. Will explain to you when writing. Donot let Maurice know that I have telegraphed.—Bertha Keys."
This telegram was addressed to Mrs. Trevor, Rose View, 10 St. Martin's Terrace, Hampstead. Punctually as the clock struck eight, Bertha was standing at the telegraph-office; it was so early that she knew the line would be more or less clear. She sent off her telegram and returned with a good appetite to breakfast.
At about ten o'clock a telegram arrived for Trevor. He was eating his breakfast in his usual lazy fashion, and was inwardly wondering if he could see Florence again: if he could lead up to the subject of the school where she had suffered disgrace: and if she herself would explain to him that which was making him far more uncomfortable than the occasion warranted.
"A telegram for you," said Bertha, handing him the little yellow envelope. He opened it, and his face turned pale.
"How queer!" he said; "this is from mother; she wants me to come up to-day: says it is urgent. What shall I do, Miss Keys?"
"Why, go, of course," said Bertha; "here is Mrs. Aylmer. Mrs. Aylmer, Mr. Trevor has had an urgent telegram from his mother. She wants to see him."
Mrs. Aylmer looked annoyed.
"I wanted you to come with me this morning, Maurice," she said, "on an expedition to Warren's Cove. I thought you might drive me in a pony carriage."
"I can do that," said Bertha, in her brisk way.
"Of course you can, my dear, if Maurice feels that he really must go.—When can you be back again?"
"I will try and return to-morrow," said Trevor; "but, of course, it depends on what really ails mother. From the tone of her telegram I should say she was ill."
"And I should say nothing of the kind," answered Mrs. Aylmer shortly; "she is one of those faddists who are always imagining that they require——"
"Hush!" said Trevor, in a stern voice.
"What do you mean by 'hush?'"
"I would rather you did not say anything against my mother, please."
He spoke with such harshness and such determination that Bertha trembled in her shoes, but Mrs. Aylmer gave him a glance of admiration.
"You are a good boy to stand up for her," she said; "yes, go, by all means: only return to me, your second mother, as soon as you can."
"Thanks," he answered, softening a little; but the gloomy look did not leave his face.
"I will walk with you to the station, Mr. Trevor," said Bertha, who thought that he required soothing, and felt that she was quite capable of administering consolation.
"Thanks," he replied; "I shall ask the station porter to call for my portmanteau."
By the next train Bertha saw Maurice Trevor off to London. When she had done so, she went slowly in the direction of the sands. She had induced Mrs. Aylmer to put off her drive until the afternoon. Bertha was now very anxious to see Florence.
In all probability Florence would be on the beach: she would know that Bertha was coming to get the answer which Florence had not given her the day before. She walked slowly, holding her parasol up to shade her face from the sun, and thinking her thoughts.
"At any rate, Maurice Trevor is safe for the day," she said to herself; "and before the evening has passed, I shall have Florence's promise that she will not betray me to Mrs. Aylmer. Mrs. Aylmer is just the sort of person, if Florence made the worst of things, to turn against me and take Florence back again. Then indeed, she would be avenged, and I should be routed. Such a state of things cannot be."
Bertha thought quickly. Her thoughts turned to a little account which was weekly swelling in importance, and which stood to her credit in the Post Office Savings Bank. She was intensely fond of money, but she knew that the time had come when it might be necessary to sacrificesome of her savings. Presently she gave a well-assumed start; said: "Hullo, Flo, is that you?" and went to meet Florence Aylmer.
Florence's face was quite pale, and her eyes were red as if she had been crying.
"Goodness!" said Bertha; "what does this mean? Have you had any domestic calamity since I saw you last?"
"No, not any except what you are making," replied Florence. "I wish you would go away, Bertha: I hate to see you again. I wish you would leave me in peace."
"Well, darling, we return to Aylmer's Court to-morrow, so you will not be long worried by us. I have just been seeing that nice young fellow, Maurice Trevor, off to town."
"Indeed," answered Florence.
"Don't you like him extremely?" continued Bertha, giving her companion a quick glance.
"I scarcely know him," replied Florence.
"But you do just know him. How did you become acquainted with him?"
"My mother introduced him."
"Ah! just like the little widow," said Bertha, in a thoughtful voice. "Well, Flo, you and I have a good deal to say to each other. Let us walk to the other end of the sands, where we shall be alone."
Florence hesitated. For a moment she looked as if she were going to refuse; then she said, in an almost sulky tone: "Very well." They turned in that direction and walked slowly. At last they reached the spot where Mrs. Aylmer had discovered Kitty and Florence the day before.
"It was here I first saw him," thought Florence Aylmerto herself. "What a true, good expression he had in his blue eyes. How upright he looked! How different from Bertha! Oh, what a miserable wretched girl I am! Why do I not tell Bertha that I do not fear her? Why should I put myself in her power?"
At last they reached the rocks.
"It is nice here, and quite romantic," said Bertha; "we can come to our little arrangement. You have made up your mind, of course, Florence, that you will not speak to Mrs. Aylmer of what you know about me?"
"I do not see why I should keep your secret for you," said Florence; "I do not particularly want to injure you, much as you injured me in the past; but at the same time why should I make a promise about it? The time may come when it will be to my benefit to tell Mrs. Aylmer what I know."
"At the present moment she would not speak to you. She hates you as she hates no one else in the world. Your very name is as a red rag to her. If I want to rouse her worst passions, I have but to allude to you. Even if you told her, she would not believe a word against me."
"I am not so sure of that. Mrs. Aylmer may be forced to listen to me, and if you rouse my evil feelings I may tell her just to spite you, Bertha."
"But you will not," said Bertha. "You want money badly. You would like to be independent."
"That is quite true."
"You have had a fairly good education and you want to earn your own living?"
"I mean to earn it."
"But you will require a little money until you do. Now,look here, Florence: I don't want to injure you. I know I did long ago; I did it for my own benefit. I was cast penniless on the world, and I was forced to invent all kinds of subterfuges to make my way. I pity girls who are placed as I was placed. I have now managed to get into a comfortable nest. As I said before, I am in your nest. It suits me, and I do not mean to go out of it; but I pity you, and I should like to help you. Will you borrow a little money from me?"
"Borrow money from you? No, no," said Florence; but she trembled as she said the words.
"I can quite conveniently lend you fifty pounds," continued Bertha, gazing as she spoke across the summer sea. "It is not much, but it is something. With fifty pounds in your pocket you can go, say to London or to any other large town and advertise what you are worth. You have, I presume, something to sell: some knowledge, for instance, which you can impart to others; or perhaps you have a talent for writing. Don't you remember our wonderful essay?"
"Don't!" said Florence; "don't!" She covered her face with her hands; the crimson colour had flooded her face.
Bertha gave a queer smile.
"Now, I could earn money by writing essays," she said; "very smart essays they would be, and I could earn money by writing stories. Suppose, suppose I write stories still, and send them to you, and you publish them as your own—how would that do? Why should you not? I like writing stories, and I do not want money, and you could polish them up if you liked and sell them as your own. That is an excellent idea. Will you do it? I am quite agreeable.I will furnish you with a short story, say, once a fortnight, or once a month. Will you take one with you and try to sell it as your own? I can do it in the evenings, and you shall have it. Don't you think that I am paying you well, now, to keep silence? I am offering you an honourable livelihood, and in the meantime there is the fifty pounds: you may as well have it; it will keep you until the money for the stories comes in, and you can pay me back when you like. I dare not appear before the world as a writer, for Mrs. Aylmer is hard to please, and she would not like me to write or to do anything but devote my time to her; but there are hours at night when she goes to bed which I can devote to your service. Now, what do you say? It seems to me to be a very good offer."
"It is a tempting offer, certainly," said Florence; "but I never thought of writing. I have no particular taste for it."
"Well, think it over," said Bertha, rising as she spoke, "and in the meantime I will send you the money this evening."
"Oh, I cannot take it; please don't."
"I will send it to you," said Bertha, in a gay voice; "it is quite arranged. Good-bye, dear; I wish you success. When you are a great writer we can cast up accounts and see on which side the balance lies. You quite understand? I have a gift in that way which I think can be turned to account. You will agree to do what I wish, will you not, Florence?"
"It is all horrible! I do not know what to say," answered Florence.
"I see in your eyes that you mean to accept; you cannot help yourself. You cannot possibly starve, and you will find when you go to London that the posts of teachers and secretaries are overfull; but the writer of clever short stories can always find a market for his or her wares."
Florence rose to her feet.
"I don't like it," she said; "I am thoroughly miserable. I wish there were some other way; but there is not."
"Well, try for yourself before you think of the story part; but, anyhow, you must take the fifty pounds—you really must."
Bertha rose, touched Florence lightly on her cheek, and before the other girl could say a word turned and left her. She walked across the beach now with a dancing step.
"I have scored a point," she said to herself; "Florence won't dare to tell. She is as certain to accept that fifty pounds as she is to eat her breakfast to-morrow morning. After all, I am very generous to her; but I see my way, I think, to win Maurice Trevor. I see my way to prevent these two becoming friends, and at the worst, if Maurice does meet Florence again, and does fall in love with her, I shall take good care that he is not Mrs. Aylmer's heir. It is but to alter her will and heigh presto! the riches are mine!"
Florence did not return to the cottage until past the usual dinner hour. When she did so, her mother, who appeared to be very much excited, met her in the porch.
"There has come a little parcel for you," she said, "from the 'Crown and Garter Hotel.' I wish you would open it; I am quite curious: it is sealed. The messenger did not want to leave it when I told him that you were out. He said it had been given him by Miss Keys to bring to you, and that he was to give it into your hands. I wonder what it can be?"
"Oh, it is nothing of importance," said Florence, turning quite pale. "Give it to me, please, mother."
"Nothing of importance, indeed!" said the little widow, tossing her head; "it seemed to me very much of importance. The messenger was quite fussed when he found you were not here: he said perhaps he had better take it back, but I assured him that I did not lose things when they were addressed to my only daughter, and that he might safely trust me to put the parcel into your hands. He was one of the waiters from the hotel—a very stylish-looking person indeed. What riches and what luck follow some people! Why should Miss Keys have everything and my poor girl be left out in the cold?"
"Oh, mother, I would not change with Bertha Keys for anything," said Florence; "but give me the parcel, please."
"Here it is; you'll open it and assuage my curiosity."
"It is only a letter from Bertha; I quite know what it contains," said Florence. She got red first and then pale. Her mother's bright beady eyes were fixed on her face.
"Well, but can't you open it and tell me about it? You know how curiosity does eat into me: I can't sleep, I can't enjoy my food when there's a secret surrounding me. What's in the letter, Flo? If you are too tired to read it just now, I will open it for you."
"No, thank you, mother; I know what it contains: it is a message from Miss Keys. I met her on the sands this morning and—and she said she would write."
With a wild fluttering at her heart, Florence popped the sealed packet into her pocket and sat down near the door.
"I am thoroughly tired," she said, "and my head aches."
Mrs. Aylmer appeared to be annoyed and disappointed.
"I do declare," she exclaimed, "I don't think any of the girls of the present day have health worth mentioning. There's Kitty: she's been fretting and fuming because you went out without her; she's a nice, refined sort of little thing, but she has a headache, and now after preparing the very nicest little dinner out of the scraps which that young man ought to have eaten last night, you never came in to partake. I had lobster salad of the most recherché description, and you were not present, while Kitty could scarcely eat because of her headache, so I had to do justice to the mayonnaise myself; and now you come in looking washed out and wretched. I do declare," she concluded, "things are more comfortable for me when Sukey and I are alone."
"Well, mother, I shall be leaving you shortly. I shall probably be going to London to-morrow or next day."
"So soon, after arranging to spend the holidays with me?"
"I have changed my mind about that now," said Florence restlessly; "I must work and begin to earn money."
"I have not a penny to give you to start with, you understand that."
"I have a little money," said Florence, and her face coloured and then turned pale: "I think I can manage."
"I wonder how," thought the widow. She glanced at Florence, but did not speak: a shrewd expression came into her eyes and she pursed up her lips.
"I will go and coax Sukey to make a cup of coffee for you," she said: "there is nothing like really strong coffee as a cure for a headache, and you can have some bread-and-butter. I am sorry to say I can afford nothing else for your dinner to-day."
"Oh, coffee and bread-and-butter will do splendidly," said Florence.
Her mother left the room. A moment later Kitty came down.
"Flo," she said, "I have just received a letter from father; he will reach Southampton to-morrow and I am to go and meet him there. Won't you come too?"
"Oh, may I go with you?" said Florence, sensibly brightening.
"May you? Of course you may; it will be so splendid to see him again, and you must constantly stay with me—constantly, Flo dear. Oh, I am so happy, so happy!"
"What is the matter, Flo?" said Kitty. The two girls were in their tiny bed-room. They were to leave Dawlish the next morning, as Kitty had persuaded Florence to go with her to Southampton in order that they might both be present when Colonel Sharston once more set foot on his native land.
Kitty was very much excited, but she was too gentle and noble a girl, too absolutely unselfish, not to notice that her companion was distrait and anxious. No one could be much more worried than poor Florence was that evening.
All during the long day which had followed she had kept saying to herself: "Shall I or shall I not? Shall I take that fifty pounds from Bertha and put myself in her power for ever, or shall I return her the money, fight my way to fortune with the weapons which God has given me, and not descend to her temptations?"
One moment Florence had almost made up her mind to choose the right path, but the next instant the thought of the struggle which lay before her and the terrible adventures which any girl must meet who fights the world without money rose to weaken her resolve. It would be so easy to accept that fifty pounds, and Bertha would scarcely dare to ask her to repay it. She would at least have plentyof time to collect the money bit by bit, and so return it to Bertha; but Florence knew well that if once she took that money she would lower herself forever in the moral scale.
"I should sink again to that sort of awful thing I was just before my great temptation at Cherry Court School," she thought. "I have managed to rise above that level now, and am I going to sink again?"
So she wavered all day long, the pendulum of her mind now swinging to one side, now to another. The result was that she felt quite worn out when night came.
"What is it?" said Kitty. "What is worrying you?"
"Oh, never mind," answered Florence. The tears rose to her eyes, she pressed her hands for a moment to her face, then she said abruptly: "Don't ask me."
"I will ask you. I have seen all day that you are wretched; you must tell me what has gone wrong with you."
"I am tempted, that is all," said Florence.
"Then do not yield to the temptation," was Kitty's answer; "if it is something you would rather not say to me——"
"No, Kitty, I must not tell you, but I am tempted strongly," answered Florence.
"The only thing to do, however hard the temptation, is not to yield to it," said Kitty.
Florence looked for a moment at her companion. Kitty, too, had known what it was to want for money. Kitty had been poor. It is true that, since the day she took the prize which Florence through deceit had lost, her kind friend, Sir John Wallis, had never ceased to shower small benefits upon her. She was not only his pet, but almosthis idol. In his heart of hearts he felt that he would like to adopt her, but he did not dare even to suggest such a thing, knowing how passionately she was attached to her father.
Now Colonel Sharston was returning to England, having been appointed to an excellent home post, and Kitty's money troubles were quite at an end.
"She will want for nothing in the future," thought Florence to herself as she looked at the graceful figure and bright beautiful face of the young girl who was standing a short distance away. "She will want for nothing: she will never know the real heartache of those who have to earn their daily bread. How can she understand?"
"Why are you looking at me like that, Flo?" said Kitty.
"Oh, I don't know; I don't know. I—sometimes I envy you. You have rich and powerful friends."
"Then it is money: I thought as much," said Kitty. "Listen to me, Florence. I am sure I can guess what is troubling you. That dreadful Bertha wants to bribe you to be silent: she has offered you money."
Florence's face turned quite pale.
"Give it back to her; you shall, you must! I know father will help you when he comes back. I will speak to him. You must not yield, Flo; you must not."
Florence stood irresolute.
"It is not too late," said Kitty. "We are both leaving here early in the morning. Has she sent you any money now?"
"Yes," said Florence. Her voice scarcely rose to a whisper. The word trembled on her lips.
"Then we will return it to her. You must not take it."
"It is too late: I have taken it."
"It is not too late. What is the time? It is only half-past ten. I am quite certain that Miss Keys is not in bed yet. Come, Flo, put on your hat; your mother won't mind. We will take the latchkey and let ourselves in. We will go to the hotel and return the money."
"Oh, I dare not."
"Then I dare," said Kitty. "You have told me nothing, remember; but I will not let you sink or yield to this temptation."
Florence colored crimson.
"You have a great power over me," she said; "I feel as if you were my good angel, and Bertha were my bad."
"Then for heaven's sake, Florence, yield to the entreaties of your good angel. Come, come; the hotel won't be shut up. Where is the money?"
"In my pocket."
"Then come immediately."
Florence was inspired by Kitty, whose voice was strong, and her face brave and bright, as befitted one who lived for the right and rejected the wrong.
"I am glad," she said to herself; "I did not ask her counsel: she has forced it upon me. She is my good angel."
A moment later the two girls left the cottage. They walked quickly in the direction of the big hotel. There were lights in many rooms, servants walking about, and the hall-door was open. They walked up the steps, and Kitty entered the hall. Florence followed her, pale and trembling.
"Can I see Miss Keys?" asked Kitty of the hall porter.
"I will enquire if Miss Keys is up still," replied the man. "What name shall I say?"
"Miss Sharston. I want to see her for a moment about something important."
"Will you come in, Miss?"
"No; perhaps she would see me here. Say also that Miss Florence Aylmer is with me."
The man withdrew. A moment later, Bertha, in her evening dress, looking pretty and excited, ran downstairs.
"What is it? What's the matter?" she said. "Is that you, Florence? Kitty, what is the matter?"
"We don't want to stay; we don't want you to tell Mrs. Aylmer, and we don't want to get you into trouble of any sort," said Kitty, speaking rapidly and drawing Bertha aside as she spoke. "But we want to give you this back, and to let you know that what you suggested was impossible—quite impossible."
As she spoke, she thrust the little packet which contained the fifty pounds into Bertha's hand, and then took Florence's.
"Come, Flo; I think that is all," she said.
Bertha was too stunned to say a word. Before she had recovered from her astonishment, the two girls had walked down the steps and gone out into the night.
"What does this mean?" said Bertha to herself. "I don't like it at all, but, thank goodness, we are leaving here to-morrow. I don't suppose Florence will really tell on me. I must discover some other way to get her into my power."
She went slowly back to the sitting-room. Mrs. Aylmer looked up discontentedly.
"Who called to see you? I didn't know you had any friends in the town, Bertha?" she said.
"Nor have I, but a couple of young girls who are staying here called to return me a little packet which I had dropped on the beach to-day and lost. They found it; my name was on it, and they brought it back to me."
"Oh, indeed; I thought I heard the waiter say that Miss Florence Aylmer had called."
"You were mistaken, Mrs. Aylmer," replied Bertha, in her calm voice. She fixed her grey-green eyes on the widow's face, and took up the book which she had been reading.
"Shall we go on with this, or shall we have a game of two-handed patience?" she said quietly.
"I will go to bed," said Mrs. Aylmer; "I am tired and cross. After all, my life is very dull. You didn't manage to amuse me to-day, Bertha; you were not like your old self; and then I miss Maurice. He has become almost indispensable to me. I hope he will return to-morrow."
"We shall probably find him before us at Aylmer's Court."
"I shall send him a telegram the first thing to-morrow to ask him to hurry home," said Mrs. Aylmer. "He is such a pleasant, bright fellow that life is insupportable without him. You used to be much more amusing than you are now, Bertha. Is anything the matter?"
"Nothing, my dear friend," said Bertha. She looked full at Mrs. Aylmer, and tears rose slowly to her eyes. Now, no one could possess a more pathetic face than Bertha when she pleased. Mrs. Aylmer was not a good-natured woman, she was not kind-hearted, she was not in anysense of the word amiable, but she had certain sentiments, and Bertha managed to arouse them. When she saw tears in her young companion's eyes now, she laid her hand on her arm.
"What is it, dear? I should be sorry to be cross with you. You are a very good girl and suit me admirably."
"It was just the fear that I was not quite suiting you that was troubling me," replied Bertha. "Say that again, kind, dear benefactress, and you will make me the happiest girl in the world."
"No one ever suited me so well. You are surely not jealous of my affection for dear Maurice?"
"Oh, no; I love him myself," said Bertha.
Mrs. Aylmer looked grave. She rose slowly.
"Ring for my maid, will you, Bertha? I shall go to bed; I am tired," said the great lady.
The maid appeared a moment later, and the two left the room together. As Mrs. Aylmer slowly undressed, she thought of Bertha's last words: "I love him myself."
"Nonsense," said Mrs. Aylmer to herself; "she is ten years his senior if she's a day; nevertheless, I must be careful. She is a clever woman; I should be sorry to have to do without her, but I often wonder what her past was. I made very few enquiries with regard to her history. I wanted someone to be with me at the time, and she took my fancy."
Downstairs Bertha slowly unfastened the little parcel and looked at the five ten-pound notes which were rolled up within.
"After all, it's just as well that I should have this money by me as that I should give it to Florence Aylmer,"she said to herself. "I must think of some other way to tempt her, and the money will be useful. I shall put it back into the post-office and wait awhile. She is certain to go to London, and equally certain to fail. I can tempt her with some of my stories. I will manage to get her address. Yes, clever as you think yourself, Florence, you will be in my power, and before many weeks are over."
Florence and Kitty left Dawlish the next day and went to Southampton. There they met Colonel Sharston, and Florence had the great bliss of seeing Kitty's intense happiness with her father. They stayed at a hotel at Southampton for the best part of a week, and then the three went to London. Kitty and her father were going to Switzerland for a month's holiday. They begged of Florence to go with them, but nothing would induce her to accept the invitation.
"I know well that Colonel Sharston even now is far from rich," she said to herself. "I will not let Kitty feel that I have put myself upon her."
So very firmly she declined the invitation, and one short week after she had bidden her mother good bye at Dawlish she found herself alone in London. She had seen Kitty and Colonel Sharston off by the night train to Dover, and left the great railway-station slowly and sadly.
"Now I have to fight the battle. Shall I fail or shall I succeed?" she said to herself.
She had taken a bed-room in a large house which was let out in small rooms. It was one of the first houses that had been let out in flats for women in London, and Florence considered herself very fortunate in being able totake up her quarters there. There was a large restaurant downstairs, where the girls who lived in the house could have their meals provided at low prices.
Florence's bed-room was fairly neat, but very small and sparsely furnished. It was an attic room, of course, for she could only afford the cheapest apartment. She had exactly twenty pounds wherewith to support herself until fortune's ball rolled her way. She felt confident enough. She had been well educated; she had taken certain diplomas which ought to enable her to get a good situation as a teacher; but if there was one thing which poor Florence disliked it was the thought of imparting knowledge to others. If she could obtain a secretaryship or any other post she would certainly not devote her life to teaching.
"It behooves me to be sensible now," she thought; "I must look around me and see what is the best thing to do."
That evening, after the departure of Kitty and her father, she retired to her bed-room. She had bought a little tea, sugar, bread, and butter, and she made herself a small meal. The prices at the restaurant were very moderate, but Florence made a calculation that she could live for a little less by buying her own food.
"I will dine at the restaurant," she thought, "and make my own breakfast and get my own supper. I must make this twenty pounds go as far as possible, as I do not mean to take the first thing that offers. I am determined to get a secretaryship if I can."
That evening she wrote a long letter to her mother, and another to Sir John Wallis. She told Sir John that shewas preparing to fight the battle in London, and gave him her address.
"I am determined," she said in the letter, "not to eat the bread of dependence. I am firmly resolved to fight my own way, and the money you have given me is, I consider, a stepping-stone to my fortunes."
She wrote frankly and gratefully, and when Sir John read the letter he determined to keep her in mind, but not to give her any further help for the present.
"She has a good deal of character," he said to himself, "although she did fall so terribly six years ago."
Mrs. Aylmer the less also received a long letter from Florence. It was written in a very different vein from the one she had sent to Sir John. Mrs. Aylmer delighted in small news, and Florence tried to satisfy her to her heart's content. She told her about Kitty's dresses and Kitty's handsome bonnets and all the different things she was taking for her foreign tour.
She described her own life with the Sharstons during the few days she had spent with them at a London hotel, and finally she spoke of her little attic up in the clouds, and how economical she meant to be, and how far she would make her money go, and how confident she was that in the future she could help her mother; and finally she sent the little Mummy her warmest love, and folded up the letter and put it into its envelope and posted it.
That letter brought great delight to Mrs. Aylmer. It was indeed what she considered a red-letter day to her when it arrived, for by parcel post that very same day there came a large packet for her from Bertha Keys, sent straight from Aylmer's Court. This packet contained awardrobe which set the little widow's ears tingling, and flushed her cheeks, brightened her eyes, and caused her heart, as she expressed it, to bound with joy.
"Oh, Sukey, come and look; come and look!" she cried, and Sukey ran from the kitchen and held up her hands and uttered sundry ejaculations as she helped her mistress to turn over the tempting array of garments.
"There's the silk dress. What a dear girl!" cried Mrs. Aylmer. "Isn't it a perfectly splendid dress, Sukey? We must get it cut down, of course; and the extra breadths will do to renovate it when it gets a little shabby. I shall give a tea-party, I really will, Sukey, when this dress is made as good as new. I am quite certain that I can spare you my old black silk, which you know, Sukey, has been turned four times."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Sukey, in her downright voice. "And what news is there from Miss Florence, please, ma'am?"
"Oh, there is a letter. I have just had time to read it. It is a very nice, pleasant letter; but really Florence is the sort of girl who does not know where her bread is buttered. If she had been anybody else she would have made up to that young man instead of sending him away when I invited him in to supper. Florence is a great trial to me in many ways, Sukey."
"If I was you, ma'am, I'd be thankful to have such a good, nice, downright young lady like Miss Florence, that I would," said Sukey. "But don't keep me any longer now, please, ma'am. I'll go and make you a cup of cocoa: it's quite as much as you want for your dinner to-day. You're so new-fangled with your bits of clothes."
"That I am," said Mrs. Aylmer the less, as Sukey hurried out of the room.
Amongst the clothes, lying by itself, was a thick envelope. Mrs. Aylmer tore it open. There tumbled out of it two golden sovereigns.
"Dear, dear!" thought the widow; "my sister-in-law Susan must be changing her mind to send me all these lovely clothes and this money; but stay: the writing is not in Susan's hand—it is doubtless the hand of that charming young creature, Miss Keys."
Bertha's letter ran as follows:—