The Time of Roses. Meade L. T.
She got red first and then pale. Her mother's bright beady eyes were fixed on her face.
"Well, but can't you open it and tell me about it? You know how curiosity does eat into me: I can't sleep, I can't enjoy my food when there's a secret surrounding me. What's in the letter, Flo? If you are too tired to read it just now, I will open it for you."
"No, thank you, mother; I know what it contains: it is a message from Miss Keys. I met her on the sands this morning and – and she said she would write."
With a wild fluttering at her heart, Florence popped the sealed packet into her pocket and sat down near the door.
"I am thoroughly tired," she said, "and my head aches."
Mrs. Aylmer appeared to be annoyed and disappointed.
"I do declare," she exclaimed, "I don't think any of the girls of the present day have health worth mentioning. There's Kitty: she's been fretting and fuming because you went out without her; she's a nice, refined sort of little thing, but she has a headache, and now after preparing the very nicest little dinner out of the scraps which that young man ought to have eaten last night, you never came in to partake. I had lobster salad of the most recherché description, and you were not present, while Kitty could scarcely eat because of her headache, so I had to do justice to the mayonnaise myself; and now you come in looking washed out and wretched. I do declare," she concluded, "things are more comfortable for me when Sukey and I are alone."
"Well, mother, I shall be leaving you shortly. I shall probably be going to London to-morrow or next day."
"So soon, after arranging to spend the holidays with me?"
"I have changed my mind about that now," said Florence restlessly; "I must work and begin to earn money."
"I have not a penny to give you to start with, you understand that."
"I have a little money," said Florence, and her face coloured and then turned pale: "I think I can manage."
"I wonder how," thought the widow. She glanced at Florence, but did not speak: a shrewd expression came into her eyes and she pursed up her lips.
"I will go and coax Sukey to make a cup of coffee for you," she said: "there is nothing like really strong coffee as a cure for a headache, and you can have some bread-and-butter. I am sorry to say I can afford nothing else for your dinner to-day."
"Oh, coffee and bread-and-butter will do splendidly," said Florence.
Her mother left the room. A moment later Kitty came down.
"Flo," she said, "I have just received a letter from father; he will reach Southampton to-morrow and I am to go and meet him there. Won't you come too?"
"Oh, may I go with you?" said Florence, sensibly brightening.
"May you? Of course you may; it will be so splendid to see him again, and you must constantly stay with me – constantly, Flo dear. Oh, I am so happy, so happy!"
CHAPTER XI.
FLORENCE'S GOOD ANGEL
"What is the matter, Flo?" said Kitty. The two girls were in their tiny bed-room. They were to leave Dawlish the next morning, as Kitty had persuaded Florence to go with her to Southampton in order that they might both be present when Colonel Sharston once more set foot on his native land.
Kitty was very much excited, but she was too gentle and noble a girl, too absolutely unselfish, not to notice that her companion was distrait and anxious. No one could be much more worried than poor Florence was that evening.
All during the long day which had followed she had kept saying to herself: "Shall I or shall I not? Shall I take that fifty pounds from Bertha and put myself in her power for ever, or shall I return her the money, fight my way to fortune with the weapons which God has given me, and not descend to her temptations?"
One moment Florence had almost made up her mind to choose the right path, but the next instant the thought of the struggle which lay before her and the terrible adventures which any girl must meet who fights the world without money rose to weaken her resolve. It would be so easy to accept that fifty pounds, and Bertha would scarcely dare to ask her to repay it. She would at least have plenty of time to collect the money bit by bit, and so return it to Bertha; but Florence knew well that if once she took that money she would lower herself forever in the moral scale.
"I should sink again to that sort of awful thing I was just before my great temptation at Cherry Court School," she thought. "I have managed to rise above that level now, and am I going to sink again?"
So she wavered all day long, the pendulum of her mind now swinging to one side, now to another. The result was that she felt quite worn out when night came.
"What is it?" said Kitty. "What is worrying you?"
"Oh, never mind," answered Florence. The tears rose to her eyes, she pressed her hands for a moment to her face, then she said abruptly: "Don't ask me."
"I will ask you. I have seen all day that you are wretched; you must tell me what has gone wrong with you."
"I am tempted, that is all," said Florence.
"Then do not yield to the temptation," was Kitty's answer; "if it is something you would rather not say to me – "
"No, Kitty, I must not tell you, but I am tempted strongly," answered Florence.
"The only thing to do, however hard the temptation, is not to yield to it," said Kitty.
Florence looked for a moment at her companion. Kitty, too, had known what it was to want for money. Kitty had been poor. It is true that, since the day she took the prize which Florence through deceit had lost, her kind friend, Sir John Wallis, had never ceased to shower small benefits upon her. She was not only his pet, but almost his idol. In his heart of hearts he felt that he would like to adopt her, but he did not dare even to suggest such a thing, knowing how passionately she was attached to her father.
Now Colonel Sharston was returning to England, having been appointed to an excellent home post, and Kitty's money troubles were quite at an end.
"She will want for nothing in the future," thought Florence to herself as she looked at the graceful figure and bright beautiful face of the young girl who was standing a short distance away. "She will want for nothing: she will never know the real heartache of those who have to earn their daily bread. How can she understand?"
"Why are you looking at me like that, Flo?" said Kitty.
"Oh, I don't know; I don't know. I – sometimes I envy you. You have rich and powerful friends."
"Then it is money: I thought as much," said Kitty. "Listen to me, Florence. I am sure I can guess what is troubling you. That dreadful Bertha wants to bribe you to be silent: she has offered you money."
Florence's face turned quite pale.
"Give it back to her; you shall, you must! I know father will help you when he comes back. I will speak to him. You must not yield, Flo; you must not."
Florence stood irresolute.
"It is not too late," said Kitty. "We are both leaving here early in the morning. Has she sent you any money now?"
"Yes," said Florence. Her voice scarcely rose to a whisper. The word trembled on her lips.
"Then we will return it to her. You must not take it."
"It is too late: I have taken it."
"It is not too late. What is the time? It is only half-past ten. I am quite certain that Miss Keys is not in bed yet. Come, Flo, put on your hat; your mother won't mind. We will take the latchkey and let ourselves in. We will go to the hotel and return the money."
"Oh, I dare not."
"Then I dare," said Kitty. "You have told me nothing, remember; but I will not let you sink or yield to this temptation."
Florence colored crimson.
"You have a great power over me," she said; "I feel as if you were my good angel, and Bertha were my bad."
"Then for heaven's sake, Florence, yield to the entreaties of your