"The letter I received from you last night requires no comment.
You may perhaps be glad to hear that I have just engaged myself
to Mr. Franks, the sub-editor of the _Argonaut_, and a very
distinguished man. We are to be married before Christmas. It is
his particular wish that I should go on writing, and it is one
of the conditions that we shall both pursue our own careers
independently of the other, and yet each helped by the other.
You will, I am sure, fulfil your part of the bargain. I shall
want another story of about five thousand words next week, as
terse, and brilliant, and clever as you can make it. I shall
also want an article for the _General Review_. Make it smart,
but avoid the woman question. I have been bullied on the
subject, and did not know how to answer.

"Yours truly,

"FLORENCE AYLMER."

This letter written, Florence did not even wait to read it. She put it
into an envelope, directed it, and ran out with it to the nearest
pillar-box. She dropped it in and returned to the house. It was not yet
eleven o'clock. How tired she was! It was nearly two hours since Franks
and she had ratified their contract. She was engaged now--engaged to a
man who did not profess to love her, for whom she did not feel the
faintest glimmering of affection. She was engaged and safe; yes, of
course she was safe. No fear now of her ghastly secret being discovered!
As long as Bertha lived the stories could be conveyed to her, and the
stories would mean fame, and she would go on adding fame to fame and
greatness to greatness until she was known, not only in England, but in
America, and in the Colonies, as a new writer of great promise, and
Franks would be rich. Oh, yes, he would manage her financial affairs in
the future. He would not allow her to sell her talent for less than it
was worth. He would instruct her how to dress, and how to speak when she
was in public; he would take care that she did not give herself away as
she had all but done last night. He would be her master, and doubtless
she would find herself ruled by an iron rod. But no matter: she was
safe. She would not think even for a moment of what she was throwing
away. Such was her feeling; but never mind: she had chosen the wrong and
refused the right. Great temptation had come, and she had not been able
to resist it, and now the only way was to go straight on; and Franks had
made that way