uch as you injured me in the
past; but at the same time why should I make a promise about it? The
time may come when it will be to my benefit to tell Mrs. Aylmer what I
know."

"At the present moment she would not speak to you. She hates you as she
hates no one else in the world. Your very name is as a red rag to her.
If I want to rouse her worst passions, I have but to allude to you. Even
if you told her, she would not believe a word against me."

"I am not so sure of that. Mrs. Aylmer may be forced to listen to me,
and if you rouse my evil feelings I may tell her just to spite you,
Bertha."

"But you will not," said Bertha. "You want money badly. You would like
to be independent."

"That is quite true."

"You have had a fairly good education and you want to earn your own
living?"

"I mean to earn it."

"But you will require a little money until you do. Now, look here,
Florence: I don't want to injure you. I know I did long ago; I did it
for my own benefit. I was cast penniless on the world, and I was forced
to invent all kinds of subterfuges to make my way. I pity girls who are
placed as I was placed. I have now managed to get into a comfortable
nest. As I said before, I am in your nest. It suits me, and I do not
mean to go out of it; but I pity you, and I should like to help you.
Will you borrow a little money from me?"

"Borrow money from you? No, no," said Florence; but she trembled as she
said the words.

"I can quite conveniently lend you fifty pounds," continued Bertha,
gazing as she spoke across the summer sea. "It is not much, but it is
something. With fifty pounds in your pocket you can go, say to London or
to any other large town and advertise what you are worth. You have, I
presume, something to sell: some knowledge, for instance, which you can
impart to others; or perhaps you have a talent for writing. Don't you
remember our wonderful essay?"

"Don't!" said Florence; "don't!" She covered her face with her hands;
the crimson colour had flooded her face.

Bertha gave a queer smile.

"Now, I could earn money by writing essays," she said; "very smart
essays they would be, and I could earn money by writing stories.
Suppose, suppose I write stories still, and send them to you, and you
publish them as your own--how would that do? Why should you not? I like
writing stories, and I do not want money, and you could polish them up
if you liked and sell them as your own. That is an excellent idea. Will