Trevor raised the latch of the gate
as he spoke, and Florence and he went out into what
the girl afterwards called an enchanted world.
Florence during that walk was light-hearted as a lark
and forgot all her cares.
Trevor made himself a very agreeable
companion. He had from the first felt a great
sympathy for Florence. He was not at that time
in love with her, but he did think her a specially
attractive girl, and, believing that she was sorrowful,
and also having a sort of latent feeling that he himself
was doing her an injury by being Mrs. Aylmer’s
heir, he was more attentive to her and more sympathetic
in his manner than he would otherwise have been.
They found a shady dell on the heath
where they sat and talked of many things. It
was not until it was nearly time to return home, and
they saw the people coming away from the little church
down in the vale, that Trevor looked at his companion
and said abruptly: “I do wish you and the
mother could live together. Do you think it could
be managed?”
“I don’t know,”
said Florence, starting; “for some things I should
like it.”
“I cannot tell you,” he
continued, flushing slightly as he spoke, “what
a great satisfaction it would be to me. I must
be frank with you. I always feel that I have
done you a great injury.”
“You certainly have not done
me an injury; you have added to the pleasure of my
life,” said Florence.
“I do not suppose we shall see
a great deal of each other, and I often wonder why.
If I am to be Mrs. Aylmer’s heir I shall have
to spend most of my life with her; but then, so long
as you are in the world, I ought not to hold that
position.”
“Oh, never mind about that,” said Florence.
“She is your aunt?”
“She is my aunt by marriage.
It does not matter. We don’t get on together.
She she never wishes to see me nor to hear
of me.”
“But I wonder why; it seems
very hard on you. You and your mother are poor,
whilst I am no relation. Why should I usurp your
place in fact, be your supplanter?”
“You are not. If you did
not have the money, someone else would. I should
never be my aunt’s heiress.”
“And yet she knows you?”
“She did know me.”
“Did you ever do anything to offend her?”
“I am afraid I did.”
Trevor was on the point of asking
“What?” but there was an expression in
Florence’s face which stayed the word on his
lips. She had turned white again, and the tired,
drawn expression had come to her eyes.
“You must come home now and
have lunch,” he said; “afterwards I will
take you for another walk, and show you some fresh
beauties.”
They rose slowly and went back to
the house. Lunch was waiting for them, and during
the meal Mrs. Trevor and Maurice talked on many things
which delighted and interested Florence immensely.
They were both highly intelligent, had a passionate
love for horticulture, and also were well read on
many other subjects. Florence found some of her
school knowledge now standing her in good stead.
In the course of the meal she mentioned Edith Franks.
Both mother and son laughed when her name was spoken
of.
“What! that enthusiastic, silly
girl who actually wants to be a doctor?” cried
Mrs. Trevor. “She is a first-rate girl herself,
but her ideas are ”
“You must not say anything against
Edith Franks, mother,” exclaimed her son.
“For my part, I think she is very plucky.
I have no doubt,” he added, “that women
doctors can do very good work.”
“She is much too learned for
me, that is all,” replied Mrs. Trevor; “but
I hear she is to undergo her examinations in America.
I trust the day will never come when it will be easy
for a woman to obtain her medical degree in this country.
It is horrible to think of anything so unfeminine.”
“I do not think Edith Franks
is unfeminine,” said Florence. “She
has been awfully kind to me. I think she is experimenting
on me now.”
“And that you don’t like, my dear?”
“She is very good to me,” repeated Florence,
“but I do not like it.”
Mrs. Trevor smiled, and Maurice gave
Florence a puzzled, earnest glance.
“I do wish, mother,” he
said suddenly, “that you could arrange to have
Miss Aylmer living with you.”
“Oh, my dear, it would be much
too far, and I know she would not like it. If
she has to work for her living, she must be nearer
town.”
“I am afraid it would not do,”
said Florence, with a sigh; “but, of course,
I I should love it.”
“You have not anything to do
yet, have you?” asked Trevor.
“Not exactly.” She coloured and looked
uncomfortable.
He gave her a keen glance, and once
more the thought flashed through Mrs. Trevor’s
mind: “The girl is hiding a secret; she
has a sorrow: what is she trying to conceal?
I wish I could draw her secret from her.”
The meal over, Trevor and Florence
once more wandered on the heath. The day, which
had been so sunny and bright in the morning, was now
slightly overcast, and they had not walked half a
mile before rain overtook them. They had quite
forgotten to provide themselves with umbrellas, and
Florence’s thin dress was in danger of becoming
wet through.
As they walked quickly back now, they
were overtaken by a man who said to Florence:
“I beg your pardon, but may I offer you this
umbrella?”
Before she could reply, the stranger
looked at Trevor and uttered an exclamation.
“Why, Tom!” cried Trevor.
He shook hands heartily with him, and introduced him
to Florence: “Mr. Franks Miss
Aylmer.”
“Aylmer?” said the young
man; “are you called Florence Aylmer?”
He looked full at the girl.
“Yes, and you have a sister
called Edith Franks,” she answered.
All the colour had left her face,
her eyes were full of a sort of dumb entreaty.
Trevor gazed at her in astonishment.
“You must come back and see
my mother, Franks,” he continued, turning again
to the young man. “It is very kind of you
to offer your umbrella to Miss Aylmer, but I think
you must share it with her.”
There was no help for it. Florence
had to walk under Mr. Franks’s umbrella; she
had seldom found herself in a more awkward position.
“Of course,” she thought,
“he will speak of the manuscript.”
She rushed recklessly into conversation
in order to avoid this, but in vain. During the
first pause Mr. Franks said: “I have good
news for you, Miss Aylmer. I showed your story
to my chief, Anderson, last night. I begged of
him to read it at once. He did so to oblige me.
He will take it for the Argonaut. I thought
you would be glad. He wants you to call at the
office to-morrow, when he will arrange terms with you. Forgive
us, won’t you, Trevor, for talking business;
but it was such a chance, coming across Miss Aylmer
like this, and I thought she would like to know as
soon as possible what a great success she has made.”
Trevor glanced at Florence in some astonishment.
“Does this mean that you write?”
he said, “and that you have had an article accepted?”
“A very promising article accepted
extremely willingly,” said Franks. “Miss
Aylmer deserves your hearty congratulations, Trevor.
She is a very fortunate young lady indeed.”
“I know I am, and I am grateful,” said
Florence.
Trevor again looked at her.
“She is not happy. What can be wrong?”
he said to himself.
“Have you ever published anything before?”
continued Franks.
“Never.”
“Well, you are lucky. Your
style I do not want to flatter you, but
your style is quite formed. You must have been
a very successful essay-writer at school.”
“No, I never wrote much,”
said poor Florence. “I I hate
writing,” she said the next moment. The
words burst impetuously from her lips.
“By all that’s wonderful!
what do you mean by that? Surely it would be
absolutely impossible for anyone who hated writing
to do so with your ease and fluency!”
“We are nearly home now, and
Miss Aylmer seems very tired,” said Trevor.
“Will you come in, Franks?”
“No, thanks; I must be getting
home. You will call at our office to-morrow,
Miss Aylmer?”
“Thank you,” said Florence; “at
what hour?”
“I shall be in and will introduce
you to my chief if you can come at twelve o’clock.
Well, good-bye for the present.” He raised
his hat to Florence, favoured her with a keen glance,
said good-bye to Trevor, and turned away.
“I must congratulate you,”
said Trevor, as the young man and the girl walked
up the little path to the house.
“What for?” she asked.
She raised her eyes full of dumb misery to his face.
“For having won a success, and a very honourable
one.”
“Oh, don’t ask me any
more,” she said; “please, please don’t
speak of it. I thought I should be so happy to-day.”
“But does not this make you happy? I do
not understand.”
“It makes me terribly miserable. I cannot
explain. Please don’t ask me.”
“I won’t; only just let
me say that, whatever it is, I am sorry for you.”
He held out his hand. The next
moment he had taken hers. Her hand, which had
been trembling, lay still in his palm. He clasped
his own strong, firm hand over it.
“I wish I could help you,”
he said, in a low voice, and then they both entered
the house.
Mrs. Trevor, through the little latticed
window in the tiny drawing-room, had witnessed this
scene.
“What?” she said to herself.
“Is my boy really falling in love with that
nice, interesting, but unhappy girl? Of course,
I shall not oppose him; but I almost wish it were
not to be.”