he shall hear nothing about you. If he
attempts to correspond with you--"

"He will not."

"How do you know?"

"I have told him not to write."

"Told him, indeed! Much he will mind such telling! I shall give your
Uncle Magnus a full account of it all and ask for his advice. He is a
man in a high position, and perhaps you may think fit to obey him,
although you utterly refuse to be guided in any way by your mother."
Then the conversation for the moment came to an end. But Florence, as
she left her mother, assured herself that she could not promise any
close obedience in any such matters to Sir Magnus.

CHAPTER XIV.

THEY ARRIVE IN BRUSSELS.

For some weeks after the party at Mrs. Armitage's house, and the
subsequent explanations with her mother, Florence was made to suffer
many things. First came the one week before they started, which was
perhaps the worst of all. This was specially embittered by the fact that
Mrs. Mountjoy absolutely refused to divulge her plans as they were made.
There was still a fortnight before she could be received at Brussels,
and as to that fortnight she would tell nothing.

Her knowledge of human nature probably went so far as to teach her that
she could thus most torment her daughter. It was not that she wished to
torment her in a revengeful spirit. She was quite sure within her own
bosom that she did all in love. She was devoted to her daughter. But she
was thwarted; and therefore told herself that she could best farther the
girl's interests by tormenting her. It was not meditated revenge, but
that revenge which springs up without any meditation, and is often
therefore the most bitter. "I must bring her nose to the grindstone,"
was the manner in which she would have probably expressed her thoughts
to herself. Consequently Florence's nose was brought to the grindstone,
and the operation made her miserable. She would not, however, complain
when she had discovered what her mother was doing. She asked such
questions as appeared to be natural, and put up with replies which
purposely withheld all information. "Mamma, have you not settled on what
day we shall start?" "No, my dear." "Mamma, where are we going?" "I
cannot tell you as yet; I am by no means sure myself." "I shall be glad
to know, mamma, what I am to pack up for use on the journey." "Just the
same as you would do on any journey." Then Florence held her tongue, and
consoled herself with thinking of Harry Annesley.

At