she saw the postmark, and a premonition of
fresh trouble came over her. Then, standing by the fire, she slowly
opened the envelope. The contents were as follows:--

_"Aylmer's Court, Dec. 3rd._

"MY DEAR FLORENCE--

"I would come to see you, but am kept here by Mrs. Aylmer's
indisposition. She has been seriously unwell and in the
doctor's hands since Maurice Trevor left her in the disgraceful
fashion he has done. He has nearly broken her heart, but I hope
to have the solace of mending it. I wish to say now that from
words dropped to Mrs. Aylmer it is highly probable that he has
gone to town for the purpose of proposing to you. Accept him,
of course, if you wish. It is likely, very likely, that you
will return his affection, for he is an attractive man, and has
a warm heart, and also a good one. I have nothing whatever to
do with that, but clearly understand the moment the news
reaches me that you are betrothed to Maurice Trevor, on that
very day I shall tell Mrs. Aylmer the whole truth with regard
to the stories which are running in the _Argonaut_ and the
paper which has already appeared in the _General Review_. I do
not mind whether I go under or not; but you shall be seen in
your true colours before ever you become the wife of Maurice
Trevor.

"Yours faithfully--and faithful I shall be in that particular--BERTHA
KEYS."

CHAPTER XL.

IS IT "YES" OR "NO"?

Florence sat up long with that letter lying in her lap. The fire burned
low and finally went out. Still she sat by the cold hearth, and once or
twice she touched the letter, and once or twice she read it.

"It burns into me; it is written in my heart in letters of fire," she
said to herself finally, and then she rose slowly and stretched her arms
and crossed the room and looked out at the sky. From the top of her
lofty flat she could see just a little sky above the London roofs. It
was a clear cold night with a touch of frost, and the stars were all
brilliant. Florence gazed up at them.

"There is a lofty and pure and grand world somewhere," she said to
herself; "but it is not for me. Good-bye, Maurice; I could have loved
you well. With you I would have been good, very good: with you I might
have climbed up: the stars would not have been quite out of reach.
Good-bye, Maurice; it is not to be."

She took Bertha's letter, put it on the cold h