It was Bertha’s intention to
go back to the railway station in the dogcart in order
to secure the pheasants and fruit for the coming party;
but just as she was preparing to jump on the cart Mrs.
Aylmer herself appeared.
“My dear Bertha,” she said, “where
are you going?”
Bertha explained.
“That is quite unnecessary.
You can send Thomas. I want you to come for a
drive with me. I wish to see Mrs. Paton of Paton
Manor. I have not yet returned her call.
There are also other calls which I want to make.
The young people are away enjoying themselves, and
our elderly friends have gone shooting. You must
come with me, as I cannot possibly go alone.”
As Mrs. Aylmer spoke the jingle of
bells was heard, and Bertha, raising her eyes, saw
the pretty ponies which drew Mrs. Aylmer’s own
special little carriage trotting down the avenue.
Bertha had always to drive Mrs. Aylmer in this little
carriage, and, much as she as a rule enjoyed doing
so, it was by no means her wish to do so now.
She looked at Mrs. Aylmer.
“The cook really does want the things from town.”
“That does not matter, my dear.
Thomas is driving the dogcart and can call for the
things. He had better go straight away at once.”
Mrs. Aylmer gave directions to the
man, who whipped up the horse and disappeared down
the avenue.
Bertha felt a momentary sense of despair;
then her quick wit came to the rescue.
“I quite forgot to give Thomas
a message,” she said; “he must have it.
Excuse me one minute, Mrs. Aylmer.”
Before Mrs. Aylmer could prevent her
she was running after the dogcart as fast as she could
go. She shouted to Thomas, who drew up.
“Yes, miss,” he said;
“the mare is a bit fresh; what is it?”
“You must take this parcel;
there is a young lady waiting for it at the station:
see that she gets it. Get one of the porters to
put it into her hand. There is no message; just
have the parcel delivered to her.”
“But what is the name of the young lady, miss?”
Bertha had not thought of that.
She looked back again at the house. Mrs. Aylmer
was getting impatient, and was waving her hand to her
to come back.
“Her name is Miss Florence Aylmer;
see that the parcel is put into her hands: there
is no message.”
Thomas, not greatly caring whom the
message was for, promised to see it safely delivered,
and the mare, not brooking any further delay, raced
down the avenue.
“I do trust things will go right,”
thought Bertha to herself; “it is extremely
dangerous. Florence certainly was mad when she
came to this part of the country.”
There was no help for it, however.
Bertha was learning once more that the way of the
transgressors is hard. She had to stifle all her
feelings of anxiety, help Mrs. Aylmer into her pretty
pony carriage, and take the reins.
Meanwhile Thomas and the spirited
mare went as fast as possible to the railway station.
The mare did not like the trains, which were coming
and going at this moment in considerable numbers,
Hamslade being a large junction. She did not
like to stand still with so many huge and terrible
monsters rushing by. Thomas did not dare to leave
her, so he called to a porter who stood near.
“I have come for some things
from town; they must have arrived by the last train.
Are there any packages for Mrs. Aylmer of Aylmer’s
Court?”
“I’ll go and see,” said the man.
He presently returned with the pheasants
and fruit, which had arrived in due course. Thomas
saw them deposited in the dogcart, and was just turning
the mare’s head towards home when he suddenly
remembered the parcel. He drew up the animal
again almost on its haunches. It reared in a
state of fright. What was to be done? The
porter had already disappeared into the station, and
Thomas knew better than to return home without obeying
Bertha’s orders. Miss Keys was a power in
the establishment. She could dismiss or she could
engage just as she pleased. Thomas would not
oppose her for worlds. He looked around him,
and just at that moment saw Maurice Trevor crossing
a field in a leisurely fashion. Maurice drew
up when he saw Thomas.
“Hallo,” he said, “what are you
doing here, Thomas?”
“I came for some parcels from
town, sir. I wonder, sir, if you would either
hold the mare for a minute or do a commission for Miss
Keys?”
“I will do the commission; what is it?”
“It is not much, sir; it is
just to deliver this parcel to a young lady who is
waiting for it at the station.”
“A young lady who is waiting
for it at the station?” said Trevor.
“Yes, sir: Miss Florence
Aylmer. There is no answer, sir.”
Trevor received the little brown-paper
parcel, very neatly made up and addressed to Miss
Florence Aylmer, in unbounded astonishment.
Thomas, relieved and feeling that
his duty was well done, gave the mare her head and
was soon out of sight. Trevor entered the station.
He went to the ladies’ waiting-room, and there
saw Florence Aylmer. She came to the door the
moment he appeared.
“What are you doing here?” was his exclamation.
“You may well wonder. But why are you here?”
“I came to give you this.”
As she spoke he placed the little parcel in Florence’s
hand.
“Thank you,” she said.
She had brought a small bag with her; she opened it
and dropped the parcel into it. Her face looked
worried; it had turned red when she saw Trevor:
it was now very white.
He stood leaning up against the door
of the waiting-room and contemplated her in astonishment.
“What have you been doing here all day?”
he repeated.
“That is my affair,” she answered.
“Forgive me; I do not want to
be unduly curious, but surely when you were so near
you might have come on to the Court. We should
all have been glad to see you, and Mrs. Aylmer is
your aunt.”
“You must please remember, Mr.
Trevor,” said Florence, speaking in as stately
a tone as she could assume, “that Mrs. Aylmer
does not act as my aunt she does not wish
to have anything to do with me.”
“But you have been here for
hours in this dingy waiting-room.”
“No; I took a walk when I thought no one was
looking.”
“That means you do not wish it to be known that
you are here?”
“I do not; and I earnestly beg
of you not to mention it. Did Miss Keys really
give you the parcel to bring to me?”
“She really did nothing of the
kind. She gave it to one of the grooms, who could
not leave a spirited mare. He saw me and asked
me to deliver it into your hands.”
“Thank you,” said Florence.
She stood silent for a moment; then she looked at
the clock.
“I must go,” she said;
“there is a train back to town immediately, and
I want to cross to the other platform.”
“I will see you into the train if you will allow
me.”
Florence could not refuse; but she
heartily wished Trevor anywhere else in the world.
“You will be sure not to mention
that you saw me here,” she said.
“I may speak of it, I suppose, to Miss Keys?”
“I wish you would not.”
“I won’t promise, Miss
Aylmer. I am very uncomfortable regarding the
position you are in. It is hateful to me to feel
that you should come here like a thief in the night,
and stay for hours at the railway station. What
mystery is there between you and Miss Keys?”
Florence was silent.
“You admit that there is a mystery?”
“I admit that there is a secret
between us, which I am not going to tell you.”
He reddened slightly; then he looked
at her. She was holding her head well back; her
figure was very upright; there was a proud indignation
about her. His heart ached as he watched her.
“I think of you often,”
he said; “your strange and inexplicable story
is a great weight and trouble on my mind.”
“I wish you would not think
of me: I wish you would forget me.”
Florence looked full at him; her angry
dark eyes were full of misery.
“Suppose that is impossible?”
he said, dropping his voice, and there was something
in his tone which made her heart give a sudden bound
of absolute gladness. But what right had she
to be glad? She hated herself for the sensation.
Trevor came closer to her side.
“I have very nearly made up
my mind,” he said; “when it is quite made
up I shall come to see you in town. This is your
train.” He opened the door of a first-class
carriage.
“I am going third,” said Florence.
Without comment he walked down a few
steps of the platform with her. An empty third-class
carriage was found; she seated herself in it.
“Good-bye,” he said.
He took off his hat and watched the train out of the
station; then he returned slowly very slowly to
Aylmer’s Court. He could not quite account
for his own sensations. He had meant to go to
meet Kitty and her father, who were both going to walk
back by the river, but he did not care to see either
of them just now.
He was puzzled and very angry with
Bertha Keys, more than angry with Mrs. Aylmer, and
he had a sore sense of unrest and misery with regard
to Florence.
“What can she want with Miss
Keys? What can be the secret between them?”
he said to himself over and over again. He was
far from suspecting the truth.
Bertha returned from her drive in
apparently excellent spirits. She entered the
hall, to find Trevor standing there alone.
“Why are you back so early?” she said.
He did not speak at all for a moment;
then he came closer to her. Before he could utter
a word she sprang to a centre table, and took up a
copy of the Argonaut.
“You are interested in Miss
Aylmer. Have you read her story the
first story she has ever published?” she asked.
“No,” he replied; “is it there?”
“It is. The reviews are praising it.
She will do very well as a writer.”
Kitty Sharston and her father appeared at that moment.
“Look, Miss Sharston,”
exclaimed Trevor; “you know Miss Aylmer.
This is her story: have you read it?”
“I have not,” said Kitty;
“how interesting! I did not know that the
number of the Argonaut had come. Florence
told me she was writing in it.” She took
up the number and turned the pages.
“Oh!” she exclaimed once or twice.
Trevor stood near.
Bertha went and warmed herself by the fire.
“Oh!” said Kitty, “this
is good.” Then she began to laugh.
“Only I wish she were not quite so bitter,”
she exclaimed, a moment later. “It is wonderfully
clever. Read it; do read it, Mr. Trevor.”
Trevor was all-impatient to do so.
He took the magazine when Kitty handed it to him,
and began to read rapidly. Soon he was absorbed
in the tale. As he proceeded with it an angry
flush deepened on his cheeks.
“What is the matter?”
said Bertha, who, for reasons of her own, was watching
this little scene with interest.
“I don’t like the tone
of this,” he said. “Of course it is
clever.”
“It is very clever; and what
does the tone matter?” said Bertha. “You
are one of those painfully priggish people, Mr. Trevor,
who will never get on in the world. Have you
not yet discovered that being extra good does not
pay?”
“I am not extra good; but being
good pays in the long run,” he answered.
He darted an indignant glance at Bertha Keys and left
the hall. Scarcely knowing why he did so, he
strode into Mrs. Aylmer’s boudoir. Bertha’s
desk, covered with papers, attracted his attention.
There was a book lying near which she was reading.
He picked it up, and was just turning away when a
scrap of thin paper scribbled over in Bertha’s
well-known hand arrested his eye. Before he meant
to do so he found that he had read a sentence on this
paper. There was a sharpness and subtlety in the
wording of the sentence which puzzled him for a moment,
until he was suddenly startled by the resemblance
to the style of the story in the Argonaut which
he had just read. He scarcely connected the two
yet, but his heart sank lower in his breast.
He thought for a moment; then, opening his pocket-book,
he placed the torn scrap of paper in it and went away
to his room. It was nearly time to dress for dinner.
Mrs. Aylmer always expected her adopted
son to help her to receive her guests, but Trevor
made no attempt to get into his evening suit.
His valet knocked at the door, but he dismissed him.
“I don’t want your services
to-night, Johnson,” said the young man.
Johnson withdrew.
“It is all horrible,”
thought Trevor; “all this wealth and luxury for
me and all the roughness for her, poor girl!
But why should I think so much about her as I do?
Why do I hate that story, clever as it is? The
story is not like her. It hurts me to think that
she could have written it. It is possible that
I” he started: his heart beat
more quickly than was its wont “is
it possible,” he repeated softly, under his breath,
“that I am beginning to like her too much?
Surely not too much! Suppose that is the way
out of the difficulty?” He laughed aloud, and
there was relief in the sound.