Meade L. T. - The Time of Roses стр 31.

"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?"