“How did you come to know that woman?” said Hugh to his brother, as soon as Archie was in the dining-room.
“She was a friend of Julia’s,” said Archie.
“You haven’t given her money?” Hugh asked.
“O dear, no,” said Archie.
Immediately after that they got into their cab; the things were pitched on the top; and—for a while—we may bid adieu to them also.
XL
Showing How Mrs. Burton Fought Her Battle
“Florence, I have been to Bolton Street and I have seen Lady Ongar.” Those were the first words which Cecilia Burton spoke to her sister-in-law, when she found Florence in the drawing-room on her return from the visit which she had made to the countess. Florence had still before her the desk on which she had been writing; and the letter in its envelope addressed to Mrs. Clavering, but as yet unclosed, was lying beneath her blotting-paper. Florence, who had never dreamed of such an undertaking on Cecilia’s part, was astounded at the tidings which she heard. Of course her first effort was made to learn from her sister’s tone and countenance what had been the result of this interview;—but she could learn nothing from either. There was no radiance as of joy in Mrs. Burton’s face, nor was there written there anything of despair. Her voice was serious and almost solemn, and her manner was very grave;—but that was all. “You have seen her?” said Florence, rising up from her chair.
“Yes, dear. I may have done wrong. Theodore, I know, will say so. But I thought it best to try to learn the truth before you wrote to Mrs. Clavering.”
“And what is the truth? But perhaps you have not learned it?”
“I think I have learned all that she could tell me. She has been very frank.”
“Well;—what is the truth? Do not suppose, dearest, that I cannot bear it. I hope for nothing now. I only want to have this settled, that I may be at rest.”
Upon this Mrs. Burton took the suffering girl in her arms and caressed her tenderly. “My love,” said she, “it is not easy for us to be at rest. You cannot be at rest as yet.”
“I can. I will be so, when I know that this is settled. I do not wish to interfere with his fortune. There is my letter to his mother, and now I will go back to Stratton.”
“Not yet, dearest; not yet,” said Mrs. Burton, taking the letter in her hand, but refraining from withdrawing it at once from the envelope. “You must hear what I have heard today.”
“Does she say that she loves him?”
“Ah, yes;—she loves him. We must not doubt that.”
“And he;—what does she say of him?”
“She says what you also must say, Florence;—though it is hard that it should be so. It must be as he shall decide.”
“No,” said Florence, withdrawing herself from the arm that was still around her. “No; it shall not be as he may choose to decide. I will not so submit myself to him. It is enough as it is. I will never see him more;—never. To say that I do not love him would be untrue, but I will never see him again.”
“Stop, dear; stop. What if it be no fault of his?”
“No fault of his that he went to her when we—we—we—he and I—were, as we were, together!”
“Of course there has been some fault; but, Flo dearest, listen to me. You know that I would ask you to do nothing from which a woman should shrink.”
“I know that you would give your heart’s blood for me;—but nothing will be of avail now. Do not look at me with melancholy eyes like that. Cissy, it will not kill me. It is only the doubt that kills one.”
“I will not look at you with melancholy eyes, but you must listen to me. She does not herself know what his intention is.”
“But I know it—and I know my own. Read my letter, Cissy. There is not one word of anger in it, nor will I ever utter a reproach. He knew her first. If he loved her through it all, it was a pity he could not be constant to his love, even though she was false to him.”
“But you won’t hear me, Flo. As far as I can learn the truth—as I myself most firmly believe—when he went to her on her return to England, he had no other intention than that of visiting an old friend.”
“But what sort of friend, Cissy?”
“He had no idea then of being untrue to you. But when he saw her the old intimacy came back. That was natural. Then he was dazzled by her beauty.”
“Is she then so beautiful?”
“She is very beautiful.”
“Let him go to her,” said Florence, tearing herself away from her sister’s arm, and walking across the room with a quick and almost angry step. “Let her have him. Cissy, there shall be an end of it. I will not condescend to solicit his love. If she is such as you say, and if beauty with him goes for everything—what chance could there be for such as me?”
“I did not say that beauty with him went for everything.”
“Of course it does. I ought to have known that it would be so with such a one as him. And then she is rich also—wonderfully rich! What right can I have to think of him?”
“Florence, you are unjust. You do not even suspect that it is her money.”
“To me it is the same thing. I suppose that a woman who is so beautiful has a right to everything. I know that I am plain, and I will be—content—in future—to think no more—” Poor Florence, when she had got as far as that, broke down, and could go on no further with the declaration which she had been about to make as to her future prospects. Mrs. Burton, taking advantage of this, went on with her story, struggling, not altogether unsuccessfully,
