Meade L. T. - The Time of Roses стр 30.

"No, it would not; I dare not go back without it. You think I am altogether in your power; but I am desperate, and if you do not let me have that essay to-night I will come to the Court,

whoever dines there, and see you. What does it matter to me? Aunt Susan cannot hate me more than she does."

"You shall have the essay, of course," said Bertha, who turned pale when Florence uttered this threat. "She means it too," thought Miss Keys, as she drove rapidly home. "Oh, what shall I do? Such a world of things to be done, and all those guests expected, and if the fruit or game does not arrive in time (and cook and I dare not now show the stores which we have put away in hiding) what is to be done?"

Bertha entered the house and saw Mrs. Aylmer, who was in just as bad a humour as Bertha had expected to find her in. Everything, she declared, was going wrong. She wished she had not asked those guests to dinner. If there was no game nor proper fruit for dessert, she, Mrs. Aylmer, would be disgraced for life.

Bertha roused herself to be soothing and diplomatic. She brought all her fund of talent and ingenuity to the fore, and presently had arranged things so well that she was able to rush to her desk in Mrs. Aylmer's boudoir and begin to write Florence's essay.

Bertha was a quick writer and had a great deal of genius, as we know, but she was harassed and worried to-day, and for a time the paper which she had promised to give to Florence did not go smoothly. She was in reality much interested in the struggles of the woman who was at that time called "modern." She pitied her; she felt that she belonged to the class. Had she time she would have written with much power, upholding her, commending her, encouraging her to proceed, assuring her that the difficulties which now surrounded her lot would disappear, and that by-and-by those who watched her struggles would sympathise with her more and more. But she had not time to do this. It was much easier to be sarcastic, bitter, crushing. This was her real forte. She determined to write quickly and in her bitterest vein. She was in her element. The paper she was writing would make the modern woman sit up and would make the domestic woman rejoice. It was dead against æstheticism: against all reform with regard to women's education. It was cruel in its pretended lack of knowledge of women's modern needs.

Bertha felt that she hated her at that moment. She would give vent to her hatred. She would turn the disagreeable, pugnacious, upstart New Woman into ridicule.

If Bertha possessed one weapon which she used with greater power than another it was that of sarcasm. She could be sarcastic to the point of cruelty. Soon her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone: she was in her element. She was writing quickly, for bare life, and she was writing well. The paper would make the New Woman sit up, and would make the old woman rejoice. It would be read eagerly. It was not a kind paper. It was the sort of paper to do harm, not good; but its cleverness was undoubted. She finished it just before the luncheon gong rang, and felt that she had done admirable work.

"After all," she said to herself, "why should I work through the channel of that little imp, Florence Aylmer? Why should she have the fame and glory, and I stay here as a poor companion? Why should I not throw up the thing and start myself as a writer and get praise and money and all the good things which fame and success bring in their train? Why should I not do it?"

Bertha thought. She held the paper in her hand. It was but to betray Florence and go herself to the editor of the Argonaut and explain everything, and the deed was done. But no: she could not do it. She knew better she was trying for a bigger prize.

"Either I inherit Mrs. Aylmer's wealth or I marry Maurice Trevor and inherit it as his wife," she thought. "I think I see my way. He is depending on me in spite of himself. He will never marry Kitty Sharston. He neither wants her nor she him. He is to be my husband, or, if not, he goes under completely and I secure Mrs. Aylmer's wealth. No amount of writing would give me what I shall get in that way. I can keep Florence quiet with this, and she is welcome, heartily welcome, to the cheap applause."

CHAPTER XXXII. TREVOR AND FLORENCE

"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

"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."