When Florence reached home she sat
down for a long time in her attic, and did not move.
She was thoroughly tired, and the slight meal she had
taken at the restaurant had by no means satisfied her
appetite. After about half an hour of anxious
thought, during which she looked far older than her
years, she took off her hat, and, going to her tiny
chest of drawers, unlocked one of them and took her
purse out. She carefully counted its contents.
There were twelve unbroken sovereigns in the purse,
and about two pounds’ worth of silver nearly
fourteen pounds in all.
“How fast it is going!”
thought the girl. “At this rate it will
not see me through the winter, and, if those terrible
people at the different registry-offices are right,
I may not get any work during the whole winter.
What shall I do? I will not go back to the little
Mummy, to live upon her and prove myself a failure.
I shall not ask anybody to help me. I must, I
will fight my battle alone. Oh, this hunger!
What would I not give for a good dinner.”
She took up one of the shillings,
and looked at it longingly. With this in her
hand, she could go down to the restaurant and have
as much food as she required. Suddenly she made
up her mind.
“I must eat well for once.
I must get over this hunger. I cannot help myself,”
she said to herself. “This meal must last
me the greater part of the week; to-morrow and the
next day and the next I must do with a bread-and-butter
dinner; but there is Sunday to be thought of Sunday
with that nice Mr. Trevor, Sunday with the country
air all around, and of course plenty to eat.
If I can have a good dinner to-night, I can go without
another at least till Sunday.”
So, hastily putting back the rest
of her money, and locking her drawer, she went downstairs
to the restaurant. She went to a table where she
had sat before, and ordered her meal. She looked
at the menu and ordered her dinner with extreme
care. She could have anything she fancied on the
menu for a shilling. A good many girls
had really excellent and nourishing meals for sixpence,
but Florence was so hungry she determined to be, as
she expressed it, greedy for once. So she made
her selection, and then sat back to wait as best she
could for the first of the dishes to arrive.
A girl with a rosy face and bright
dark eyes presently came and took the seat opposite
to her. She was a stranger to Florence. The
waitress came up and asked what the girl would like
to have for dinner.
“Soup, please, and a chop afterwards,”
was the hasty reply.
The waitress went away, and the girl,
taking a German book out of her bag, opened it and
began to read eagerly. She did not notice Florence,
who had no book, and was feeling in a very excited
and fractious humour, becoming feverishly anxious
for her dinner. Presently Florence dropped her
napkin-ring, making a little clatter as she did so.
The girl seated opposite started, stopped, and picked
it up for her.
“Thank you,” said Florence.
There was something in her tone which
caused the strange girl to drop her German book and
look at her attentively.
“Are you very tired?” she said.
“Tired, yes, but it does not matter,”
answered Florence.
“It is the hot weather,”
said the girl; “it is horrid being in town now.
I should not be, only ” She paused
and looked full at Florence, then she said impulsively:
“You will be somewhat surprised: I am going
to be a doctor a lady doctor. You
are horrified, no doubt. Before ten years are
out there will be women doctors in England: they
are much wanted.”
“But can you, do they allow you to study in
the men’s schools?”
“Do they?” said the girl;
“of course they don’t. I have to go
to America to get my degree. I am working here,
and shall go to New York early in the spring.
Oh, I am very busy, and deeply interested. The
whole thing is profoundly interesting, fearfully so.
I am reading medical books, not only in English, but
also in French and German. Do you mind if I go
on reading until dinner arrives?”
“Of course not. Why should
you stop your studies on my account?” said Florence.
The girl again favoured her with a
keen glance, and then, to Florence’s surprise,
instead of continuing her reading, she immediately
closed her book and looked full across at her companion.
“Why don’t you read?”
said Florence, in a voice which was almost cross.
“Thank you; I have found other employment.”
“Staring at me?”
“Well, yes; you interest me.
You are fearfully neurotic and and
anæmic. You ought to take iron.”
“Thank you,” said Florence;
“I don’t want anything which would make
me more hungry than I am at present. Iron is
supposed to promote appetite, is it not?”
“Yes. Do you live in this house?”
“I do,” answered Florence.
“I have taken a room on the third floor, N. What is your number?”
“Oh, I aspire a good bit,”
said Florence, with the ghost of a smile; “the
number of my room is 32.”
“May I come and see you?”
“No, thank you.”
“What a rude girl! You
certainly are fearfully neurotic. Ah! here
comes no, it’s not my dinner, it is
yours.”
The soup Florence had ordered was
placed before her. How she wished this bright-eyed
girl, with the rude manner, as she considered, would
resume her German.
“Would you like me to go on reading?”
said the girl.
“You can please yourself, of course,”
answered Florence.
“I won’t look at you,
if that is what you mean; but I do wish, if I may
not come to see you, that you will come to see me.
There are so few girls at present in the house, and
those who are there ought to make friends, ought they
not? See: this is my card Edith
Franks.”
“And you really mean to be a
doctor a doctor?” said Florence, not
glancing at the card which her companion pushed towards
her.
“It is the dearest dream of
my life. I want to follow in the steps of Mrs.
Garrett Anderson; is she not noble? I thought
you would be pleased.”
“I don’t know that I am;
it does not sound feminine,” replied Florence.
She was devouring her soup, and hating Edith Franks
for staring at her.
Presently Edith’s own dinner
arrived, and she began to eat. She ate in a leisurely
fashion, sipping her soup, and breaking her bread into
small portions. She was not very hungry; in fact,
she was scarcely hungry at all.
As Florence’s own quite large
meal proceeded, she began to consider herself the
greediest of the greedy.
Miss Franks sat on and chatted.
She talked very well, and she had plenty of tact,
and soon Florence began to consider her rather agreeable
than the reverse. Florence had ordered five distinct
dishes for her dinner, and she ate each dish right
through. Miss Franks was now even afraid to glance
in her direction.
“There is no doubt the poor
soul was starving,” she said to herself.
At last Florence’s meal was
over. The two girls left the table together.
“Come to my room, won’t
you, to-night? It is not seven o’clock yet.
I always have cocoa between nine and ten. Come
and have a cup of cocoa with me, will you not?”
“Thank you,” said Florence;
“you are very good. My name is Florence
Aylmer.”
“And you are studying? What are you doing?”
“I am not studying.”
“Aren’t you? Then ”
“You are full of curiosity,
and you want to know why I am here,” said Florence.
“I am here because I want to earn my bread.
I hope to get a situation soon. I am a girl out
of a situation you know the kind.”
She gave a laugh, and ran up the winding stairs to
her own attic at the top of the house, without glancing
back at Edith Franks.
“Shy, poor, and half-starved,”
said the medical student to herself; “I thought
my work would come to me if I waited long enough.
I must look after her a little bit.”
Meanwhile, the very first thing Florence
found when she entered her room was a letter, or,
rather, a packet, lying on her table. She pounced
upon it, as the hungry pounce on food. Her appetite
was thoroughly satisfied at last, and her mind was
just in the humour to require some diversion.
She thought that she would rather like having cocoa
presently with Miss Franks.
“She shall not patronise me;
of that I am resolved,” thought the proud girl.
But here was a letter a thick, thick letter.
She flung herself into the first chair and tore it
open. She glanced, a puzzled expression on her
face, at pages of closely-written matter, and then
picked up a single sheet, which had fallen from the
packet. The letter was from Bertha Keys, and
ran as follows:
“My dear,
good, brave Flo
“I have obtained your address,
no matter how, no matter why, and I write to
you. How are you getting on? You did a daring
thing when you returned you know what; but, my
dear, I respect you all the more for endeavouring
to be independent. I think, however, it
is quite possible that you may have considered my
other suggestion.
“Now, Flo, I should like to see
myself in print not myself as I am,
but my words, the ideas which come through my brain.
I long to see them before the world, to hear
remarks upon them. Will you, dear Flo, read
the tale which I enclose, and if you think it
any good at all take it to a publisher and see if he
will use it? You had better find an editor
of a magazine, and offer it to him. It is
not more than four thousand words in length,
and it is, I think, exciting; and will you put your
name to it and publish it as your own? I
don’t want the world to know Bertha Keys
writes stories, but I should like the world to
know the thoughts which come into her head, and if
we make a compact between us there can be nothing
wrong in it, and but I will add no
more. Do, do, dear Flo, make use of this story.
I do not require any money for it. Make
what use of it you can, and let me know if I
am to send you further mss.
“Your aunt, Mrs.
Aylmer, is a little more snappish than usual.
I have a hard time,
I assure you, with her. My great friend,
Maurice Trevor, returns,
I think, in a day or two. Ah,
Florence, you little
know what a great, great friend he is!
“Yours affectionately,
“Bertha Keys.”