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The Time of Roses, a fiction by L. T. Meade |
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Chapter 20. Rose View |
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_ CHAPTER XX. ROSE VIEW It was a most glorious Sunday, and Florence felt cheered as she dressed for her visit to Hampstead. She resolved to put all disagreeable things out of sight. "I fell before," she said to herself, "and I am falling again. I am afraid there is nothing good in me: there is certainly nothing stable in me. I yielded to temptation when I was a girl at school, and I am yielding now. I have put myself again into the power of an unscrupulous woman. But for to-day at least I will be happy; I will banish dull care." So she made herself look as bright and pretty as she could in a white washing dress. She wore a smart sailor hat, and, putting on some white washing gloves, ran downstairs. On one of the landings she met Edith Franks. "Whither away?" asked that young lady. "I am going to Hampstead to spend the day with friends." "That is very nice. I know Hampstead well. What part are you going to?" "Close to the heath: to people of the name of Trevor." "Not surely to Mrs. Trevor, of Rose View?" exclaimed Edith Franks, starting back a step and raising her brows as she spoke. "Yes." "And do you know her son, that most charming fellow, Maurice Trevor?" "I know him slightly." "Oh, but this is really delightful. We have been friends with the Trevors, Tom and I, ever since we were children. This seems to be quite a new turn to our friendship, does it not?" Florence felt herself both cold and stiff. She longed to be friendly with Edith, who was, she was well aware, all that was kind; nevertheless, a strange sensation of depression and of coming trouble was over her. "She is kind; but she may tempt me to do what is wrong," thought poor Florence. "I don't know the Trevors well," she answered. "I have met Mr. Trevor once or twice, but I have never even seen his mother. His mother has been kind enough to ask me to spend to-day with her. I will say good-bye now." "Be sure you give my love to dear Mrs. Trevor, and remember me to Maurice. Tell him, with my kind regards, that I commiserate him very much." "Why so?" asked Florence. "Because he has had the bad luck to be adopted by a rich, eccentric old lady, and he will lose all his personality. Tell him I wouldn't be in his shoes for anything, and now ta! ta! I see you are dying to be off." Edith went back to her room, and Florence ran downstairs, entered an omnibus which would convey her the greater part of the way to Hampstead, and arrived there a little before ten o'clock. As she was walking up the little path to the Trevors' cottage, Maurice Trevor came down to meet her. "How do you do?" he said, shaking hands with her and taking her immediately into the house. Mrs. Trevor was standing in the porch. "This is Miss Aylmer, mother," said the young man. Mrs. Trevor held out her hand, looked earnestly into Florence's face, then drew her towards her and kissed her. "I am glad to see you, my dear," she said; "my son has told me about you. Welcome to Rose View; I hope you like the place." Florence looked around her and gave an exclamation of surprise and delight. The house was a very small one, but it stood in a perfect bower of roses: they were climbing all over the house, and blooming in the garden: there were standard roses, yellow, white, and pink, moss-roses, the old-fashioned cabbage-rose, and Scotch roses, little white and red ones. "I never saw anything like it," said Florence, forgetting herself in her astonishment and delight. Mrs. Trevor watched her face. "She is a nice girl, but she has some trouble behind," thought the widow to herself. "We will go round the garden," she said; "it is not time for church yet. I am not able to go this morning, but Maurice will take you presently. You have just to cross the heath and you can go to a dear little church, quite in the depths of the country. I never need change of air here in my rose-bower. But come: what roses shall I pick for you?" "I must give Miss Aylmer her flowers, as she is practically my guest," said Trevor, coming forward at that moment. He picked a moss-rose bud and a few Scotch roses, made them into a posy, and gave them to Florence. She placed the flowers in her belt; her cheeks were already bright with colour, and her eyes were dewy with happiness. She bent down several times to sniff the fragrance of the flowers. Mrs. Trevor drew her out to talk, and soon she was chatting and laughing, and looked like a girl who had not a care in the world. "I never saw anything so sweet," she said. "How have you managed to make all these roses bloom at once?" "I study roses; they are my specialty. I think roses are the great joy of my life," said Mrs. Trevor. But as she spoke she glanced at her stalwart, handsome son, and Florence guessed that he was his mother's idol, and wondered how she could part with him to Mrs. Aylmer. "The church bells are beginning to ring," he said suddenly; "would you like to go to church or would you rather just wander about the heath?" "I think I would rather stay on the heath this morning," said Florence. She coloured as she spoke. "I do not feel very churchy," she added. "All right: we'll have our service out of doors then; we'll be back, mother, in time for lunch." _ |
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