d Florence.

"Where is the use of being proud? She's a very fine figure of a woman
still. She wears wonderfully, and she has a most charming secretary: a
sort of companion, a delightful girl. She and I walked down together
almost to this door. She is in your shoes, my poor Florence; but she is
really a _very_ nice girl."

"I have seen her to-day, mother; I know who she is," said Florence
gravely; "her name is Bertha Keys."

"Bertha Keys," replied Mrs. Aylmer; "Bertha Keys?"

"You know who Bertha Keys is, mother. She is the girl, the pupil
teacher, who behaved so badly at Cherry Court School six years ago."

"Oh, we won't mention that affair; it is dead and buried; we are not
going to dig it out of its grave," replied Mrs. Aylmer.

Florence did not reply. She looked full at her mother.

"Bertha has been saying something to her," she thought; "she has been
trying to influence her. Those were almost Bertha's own words." She got
up hastily.

"The fact is, mother, I do not care to talk of it," she said; "the whole
thing has upset me very much."

"Well, darling, I cannot think that it is your affair. It is bitterly
disappointing that you should have lost your Aunt Susan's patronage. How
proud I should be of you now if you were really her adopted daughter."

"Why, no, mother, you would not see me; you forget that part."

"To be sure, how stupid I am!" said Mrs. Aylmer. "Well, your aunt was
most agreeable to-day: not so stingy either. We had quite a nice little
tea; and that young man I told you of, Mr. Trevor, he came in. He is a
charming person, my dear; quite fascinating. I was much taken with him.
I longed to ask him to call, but I saw that Susan would allow no
liberties. He chatted to me all the time, and was so agreeable. I am
quite delighted with him."

"We are going for a walk now, mother," said Florence.

"Well, dear, do; you both look pale. I want you to get nice and
sunburnt, and to have a right good time. Yes, I am quite pleased with my
visit. There is no use in quarrelling with your relations, and Susan,
the moment she looked at my poor turned skirt--it is shiny, is it not,
Miss Sharston?--she spoke about that trunk of clothes which is to arrive
next week. She turned to the charming Miss Keys, and asked her to
collect them."

"And you stood it, mother; you really stood it," said Florence, the
colour coming and going on her face.

"My dear, good girl, beggars cannot be choosers. I have been absolut