His Boots With His Handkerchief

When Florence Burton had written three letters to Harry without
receiving a word in reply to either of them, she began to be seriously
unhappy. The last of these letters, received by him after the scene
described in the last chapter, he had been afraid to read. It still
remained unopened in his pocket. But Florence, though she was unhappy,
was not even yet jealous. Her fears did not lie in that direction, nor
had she naturally any tendency to such uneasiness. He was ill, she
thought; or if not ill in health, then ill at ease. Some trouble
afflicted him of which he could not bring himself to tell her the facts,
and as she thought of this she remembered her own stubbornness on the
subject of their marriage, and blamed herself in that she was not now
with him, to comfort him. If such comfort would avail him anything now,
she would be stubborn no longer. When the third letter brought no reply
she wrote to her sister-in-law, Mrs. Burton, confessing her uneasiness,
and begging for comfort. Surely Cecilia could not but see him
occasionally--or at any rate have the power of seeing him. Or Theodore
might do so--as, of course, he would be at the office. If anything ailed
him would Cecilia tell her all the truth? But Cecilia, when she began to
fear that something did ail him, did not find it very easy to tell
Florence all the truth.

But there was jealousy at Stratton, though Florence was not jealous. Old
Mrs. Burton had become alarmed, and was ready to tear the eyes out of
Harry Clavering's head if Harry should be false to her daughter. This
was a misfortune of which, with all her brood, Mrs. Burton had as yet
known nothing. No daughter of hers had been misused by any man, and no
son of hers had ever misused any one's daughter. Her children had gone
out into the world steadily, prudently, making no brilliant marriages,
but never falling into any mistakes. She heard of such misfortunes
around her--that a young lady here had loved in vain, and that a young
lady there had been left to wear the willow; but such sorrows had never
visited her roof; and she was disposed to think--and perhaps to
say--that the fault lay chiefly in the imprudence of mothers. What if at
last, when her work in this line had been so nearly brought to a
successful close, misery and disappointment should come also upon her
lamb! In such case Mrs. Burton, we may say, was a ewe who would not see
her lamb suffer without many