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The Time of Roses, a fiction by L. T. Meade |
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Chapter 21. An Awkward Position |
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_ CHAPTER XXI. AN AWKWARD POSITION Trevor raised the latch of the gate as he spoke, and Florence and he went out into what the girl afterwards called an enchanted world. Florence during that walk was light-hearted as a lark and forgot all her cares. Trevor made himself a very agreeable companion. He had from the first felt a great sympathy for Florence. He was not at that time in love with her, but he did think her a specially attractive girl, and, believing that she was sorrowful, and also having a sort of latent feeling that he himself was doing her an injury by being Mrs. Aylmer's heir, he was more attentive to her and more sympathetic in his manner than he would otherwise have been. They found a shady dell on the heath where they sat and talked of many things. It was not until it was nearly time to return home, and they saw the people coming away from the little church down in the vale, that Trevor looked at his companion and said abruptly: "I do wish you and the mother could live together. Do you think it could be managed?" "I don't know," said Florence, starting; "for some things I should like it." "I cannot tell you," he continued, flushing slightly as he spoke, "what a great satisfaction it would be to me. I must be frank with you. I always feel that I have done you a great injury." "You certainly have not done me an injury; you have added to the pleasure of my life," said Florence. "I do not suppose we shall see a great deal of each other, and I often wonder why. If I am to be Mrs. Aylmer's heir I shall have to spend most of my life with her; but then, so long as you are in the world, I ought not to hold that position." "Oh, never mind about that," said Florence. "She is your aunt?" "She is my aunt by marriage. It does not matter. We don't get on together. She--she never wishes to see me nor to hear of me." "But I wonder why; it seems very hard on you. You and your mother are poor, whilst I am no relation. Why should I usurp your place--in fact, be your supplanter?" "You are not. If you did not have the money, someone else would. I should never be my aunt's heiress." "And yet she knows you?" "She did know me." "Did you ever do anything to offend her?" "I am afraid I did." Trevor was on the point of asking "What?" but there was an expression in Florence's face which stayed the word on his lips. She had turned white again, and the tired, drawn expression had come to her eyes. "You must come home now and have lunch," he said; "afterwards I will take you for another walk, and show you some fresh beauties." They rose slowly and went back to the house. Lunch was waiting for them, and during the meal Mrs. Trevor and Maurice talked on many things which delighted and interested Florence immensely. They were both highly intelligent, had a passionate love for horticulture, and also were well read on many other subjects. Florence found some of her school knowledge now standing her in good stead. In the course of the meal she mentioned Edith Franks. Both mother and son laughed when her name was spoken of. "What! that enthusiastic, silly girl who actually wants to be a doctor?" cried Mrs. Trevor. "She is a first-rate girl herself, but her ideas are--" "You must not say anything against Edith Franks, mother," exclaimed her son. "For my part, I think she is very plucky. I have no doubt," he added, "that women doctors can do very good work." "She is much too learned for me, that is all," replied Mrs. Trevor; "but I hear she is to undergo her examinations in America. I trust the day will never come when it will be easy for a woman to obtain her medical degree in this country. It is horrible to think of anything so unfeminine." "I do not think Edith Franks is unfeminine," said Florence. "She has been awfully kind to me. I think she is experimenting on me now." "And that you don't like, my dear?" "She is very good to me," repeated Florence, "but I do not like it." Mrs. Trevor smiled, and Maurice gave Florence a puzzled, earnest glance. "I do wish, mother," he said suddenly, "that you could arrange to have Miss Aylmer living with you." "Oh, my dear, it would be much too far, and I know she would not like it. If she has to work for her living, she must be nearer town." "I am afraid it would not do," said Florence, with a sigh; "but, of course, I--I should love it." "You have not anything to do yet, have you?" asked Trevor. "Not exactly." She coloured and looked uncomfortable. He gave her a keen glance, and once more the thought flashed through Mrs. Trevor's mind: "The girl is hiding a secret; she has a sorrow: what is she trying to conceal? I wish I could draw her secret from her." The meal over, Trevor and Florence once more wandered on the heath. The day, which had been so sunny and bright in the morning, was now slightly overcast, and they had not walked half a mile before rain overtook them. They had quite forgotten to provide themselves with umbrellas, and Florence's thin dress was in danger of becoming wet through. As they walked quickly back now, they were overtaken by a man who said to Florence: "I beg your pardon, but may I offer you this umbrella?" Before she could reply, the stranger looked at Trevor and uttered an exclamation. "Why, Tom!" cried Trevor. He shook hands heartily with him, and introduced him to Florence: "Mr. Franks--Miss Aylmer." "Aylmer?" said the young man; "are you called Florence Aylmer?" He looked full at the girl. "Yes, and you have a sister called Edith Franks," she answered. All the colour had left her face, her eyes were full of a sort of dumb entreaty. Trevor gazed at her in astonishment. "You must come back and see my mother, Franks," he continued, turning again to the young man. "It is very kind of you to offer your umbrella to Miss Aylmer, but I think you must share it with her." There was no help for it. Florence had to walk under Mr. Franks's umbrella; she had seldom found herself in a more awkward position. "Of course," she thought, "he will speak of the manuscript." She rushed recklessly into conversation in order to avoid this, but in vain. During the first pause Mr. Franks said: "I have good news for you, Miss Aylmer. I showed your story to my chief, Anderson, last night. I begged of him to read it at once. He did so to oblige me. He will take it for the Argonaut. I thought you would be glad. He wants you to call at the office to-morrow, when he will arrange terms with you.--Forgive us, won't you, Trevor, for talking business; but it was such a chance, coming across Miss Aylmer like this, and I thought she would like to know as soon as possible what a great success she has made." Trevor glanced at Florence in some astonishment. "Does this mean that you write?" he said, "and that you have had an article accepted?" "A very promising article accepted extremely willingly," said Franks. "Miss Aylmer deserves your hearty congratulations, Trevor. She is a very fortunate young lady indeed." "I know I am, and I am grateful," said Florence. Trevor again looked at her. "She is not happy. What can be wrong?" he said to himself. "Have you ever published anything before?" continued Franks. "Never." "Well, you are lucky. Your style--I do not want to flatter you, but your style is quite formed. You must have been a very successful essay-writer at school." "No, I never wrote much," said poor Florence. "I--I hate writing," she said the next moment. The words burst impetuously from her lips. "By all that's wonderful! what do you mean by that? Surely it would be absolutely impossible for anyone who hated writing to do so with your ease and fluency!" "We are nearly home now, and Miss Aylmer seems very tired," said Trevor. "Will you come in, Franks?" "No, thanks; I must be getting home. You will call at our office to-morrow, Miss Aylmer?" "Thank you," said Florence; "at what hour?" "I shall be in and will introduce you to my chief if you can come at twelve o'clock. Well, good-bye for the present." He raised his hat to Florence, favoured her with a keen glance, said good-bye to Trevor, and turned away. "I must congratulate you," said Trevor, as the young man and the girl walked up the little path to the house. "What for?" she asked. She raised her eyes full of dumb misery to his face. "For having won a success, and a very honourable one." "Oh, don't ask me any more," she said; "please, please don't speak of it. I thought I should be so happy to-day." "But does not this make you happy? I do not understand." "It makes me terribly miserable. I cannot explain. Please don't ask me." "I won't; only just let me say that, whatever it is, I am sorry for you." He held out his hand. The next moment he had taken hers. Her hand, which had been trembling, lay still in his palm. He clasped his own strong, firm hand over it. "I wish I could help you," he said, in a low voice, and then they both entered the house. Mrs. Trevor, through the little latticed window in the tiny drawing-room, had witnessed this scene. "What?" she said to herself. "Is my boy really falling in love with that nice, interesting, but unhappy girl? Of course, I shall not oppose him; but I almost wish it were not to be." _ |
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