A STARTLING MEETING.
Kitty went out soon afterwards and joined Florence on the beach. They
walked up and down, chatting eagerly. For a time nothing whatever was
said about Mrs. Aylmer's queer suggestion; then suddenly Florence spoke
of it.
"There is one thing I ought to say, Kitty."
"What is that?" asked Kitty.
"You must never mind the little Mummy's oddities. She has lived alone on
extremely circumscribed means for many years, and when she gets an idea
into her head she broods on it."
"You mean, of course, what she said with regard to Mr.--Mr. Trevor,"
said Kitty, flushing as she spoke.
"Yes, it wasn't nice of her," said Florence, with a sigh; "and we won't
either of us think of it again. Kitty, I have made up my mind not to
marry."
"Why so?"
"For a great many reasons. One of them is that I vastly prefer my
independence. Another is that I do not think a rich nice man is likely
to come in my way, and I do not want to have anything to do with a poor
man, whether he is nice or nasty. I have seen too much of poverty. I
have had it close to me all my days. I mean to do well in the world: to
be beholden to no one. In a fortnight's time I am going to London. I am
just taking this one fortnight of rest and refreshment: then I go to
London. I have in my trunk half a dozen introductions to different
people. I mean to use them; I mean to get something to do; I mean to
step from the lowest rung of the ladder up to the highest. I mean to be
a success: to prove to the world that a girl can fight her own battles,
live her own life, secure her reward--be, in short, a success."
"Why, Florence," said her companion, "how well you speak; how excited
you look!"
"I have not gone through all I have gone through in my life for
nothing," was Florence's reply. "I will never scheme again, I will never
again do anything underhand, and I will not marry the man my mother has
singled out for me."
She had scarcely said the words before the attention of both girls was
arrested by the sound of a merry laugh not ten yards away. They both
looked round, and Florence's cheeks first of all grew vivid and then
turned white. A gracefully-dressed woman, or rather girl, was crossing
the sands, accompanied by a young man in a grey suit. The man had broad
shoulders, closely-cropped, rather fair hair, a sweeping moustache, and
eyes as blue as the sky. He had a nice, open sort of face. He was tall,
nearly six feet in height, and held himself as erect as a grenadier. He
was bending towards the girl and talking to her, and the girl continued
to laugh, and once she glanced with a quick, darting movement in the
direction where Kitty and Florence were sitting. Then, touching her
companion on the arm, she said: "I am tired; will you take me back to
the hotel?"
Neither Kitty nor Florence said a word until the pair--the good-looking,
well-set-up young man and the girl in her pretty summer
dress--disappeared from view. Then Florence turned to Kitty.
"It is?" said Florence.
Kitty nodded.
"Who would have believed it?" continued Florence. She started up in her
excitement.
"I do not think I can quite stand this," she said.
"But where has she come from?" said Kitty again.
"How can I tell? I never want to see her wicked face again."
"She looks just as young as she did six years ago," said Kitty. Then she
added impulsively: "I am sorry I have seen her again; I never could bear
her face. Do you think her eyes were set quite straight in her head,
Florence?"
"I don't know anything about that," answered Florence recklessly. "Long
ago she did me a great deal of harm. There came a time when I almost
hated her. Whether her eyes are straight or not, her mind at least is
crooked. Who is that man she is with?"
"He is good-looking and looks nice also," said Kitty.
Florence made no reply. The girls paced up and down together; but
somehow the edge of the day's enjoyment seemed gone. They went in to
their midday meal between twelve and one, and afterwards Kitty, who said
she felt a little tired, went to lie down. Florence, however, was still
restless and perturbed; she hated the thought of the vicinity of Bertha
Keys, and yet she had a curious longing to know something about her.
"I am not going to fight shy of her or to show her that I am in the
least afraid of her," thought Florence; "I can make myself much more
disagreeable to her and much more dangerous than she can ever make
herself to me. I wonder where she is staying?"
Mrs. Aylmer proposed that she and her daughter should spend the
afternoon on the sands.
"Let us visit the shrimp-woman and get some fresh shrimps and perhaps a
crab or a lobster for supper," said the little Mummy, holding out a bait
which would have quite won the day in the old times. But Florence had
outgrown her taste for these special dainties.
"I want to go out alone, Mummy," she said; "you and I and Kitty can have
a walk after tea, but just for the present I must be alone." She pinned
on her hat, put on her gloves, and left the cottage.
Mrs. Aylmer stood in the porch and watched her.
"A good girl, a fairly good-looking girl too," she said to herself, "but
obstinate, obstinate as a mule. Even that trouble of long ago has not
tamed her. She is the image of her poor dear father; he always was a man
with a desperate will of his own."
Miss Aylmer watched Florence until she disappeared in the direction of
the pier. There was a bench there, and a girl was seated on it. She wore
a pink dress of some washing material and a large black shady hat.
Florence came nearer and nearer. The girl, who was reading a book,
dropped it and gazed in her direction. Presently Florence found herself
within less than two hundred yards from the place where the other girl
was seated. At this moment the girl flung down her book, uttered a hasty
exclamation, and came forward.
"Is it or is it not Florence Aylmer?" she said. She held out both her
hands, uttering a little cry of apparent pleasure.
Florence did not notice the outstretched hands. She came up to her.
"I have come on purpose," she said; "I knew you were here. What are you
doing here?"
"Why should I tell you what I am doing?" replied Bertha. Her eyes
slightly contracted, she pushed her hair away from her forehead, then
she looked full at Florence and uttered a laugh. "What is the good of
quarrelling?" she said. "We have met. I am in the running; you are out
of it. I am up and you are down. My prospects are first-rate, yours----"
"What do you mean? How can you tell anything about my prospects? Why do
you trouble me? Why did you come to meet me just now?"
"Speak the truth," said Miss Keys; "were you not coming on purpose to
see me?"
Florence was silent for a moment.
"I recognised you this morning," she said, "and I was restless to know
why you were here."
"Ah, curiosity, you are Eve's own daughter," said Bertha Keys, with a
laugh. "Well, now that we have met, we may as well talk the thing out.
Can you deny that you are down and I am up?"
"I neither deny nor affirm your statement," replied Florence. "I have
never heard of you--I have never mentioned your name since that
dreadful day at Cherry Court six years ago."
"Six years this autumn--not quite six years yet," replied Bertha,
correcting her. "Yes, I too remember the day," she said thoughtfully.
"It seemed a bad day for me, and yet it was a good one. I have feathered
my nest. You stepped out of it and I stepped in. Do you understand?"
"I don't."
"You have grown a good deal, Florence Aylmer," said Bertha, looking her
all over. "You are what would be called a fine young woman. If you had
had the advantages of a refined life, of very good dress, you might, now
that you are grown up, command almost any future. As it is"--she
shrugged her shoulders.
"What is the matter with my dress?" said Florence; "you always were
queer and rude, Bertha, and time has not improved you."
"You cannot say that I am badly dressed," said Bertha Keys, and she
glanced at her exquisitely-cut pink zephyr skirt, her pretty blouse, and
her neat shoes.
Florence also eyed her all over.
"You are well got up," she said; "but what of that? Your face never
changes."
"Thank you for the compliment," replied Bertha; "I cannot say that you
are well got up, and your face, if it has changed, is not more beautiful
than it promised to be."
"Pray leave my face alone; it belongs to me, not to you," retorted
Florence, with some spirit.
"Do you want to know what I am doing now: how I am managing to live?"
said Bertha.
"You can tell me if you please; if you prefer not to say anything, it
does not matter in the least."
"But it does matter; it matters a good deal," replied Bertha. "You did
something very silly long ago. You thought to succeed, but you failed.
It was not my fault. I did what I could for you. If I was clever then, I
am still more clever now. I have a gift of writing, but I need not wear
my brain out thinking of curious essays and well-devised stories and
clever plots. I am working at my own story, and I think it will come off
well."
"But what do you mean? Where are you?"
"We are staying at the 'Crown and Garter' for the present."
"We?" said Florence, in a questioning tone.
"Yes; how stupid you are! Have not you guessed! Mrs. Aylmer, Mr. Trevor,
and I."
"You don't mean it?" said Florence, springing to her feet. "Aunt Susan!
Are you staying with her?"
"Yes, and I fancy I am indispensable to her. I have lived with her for
nearly six years. I manage her affairs; I write her letters; I attend to
her business; she consults me about everything. She goes where I like;
she does what I want. The nest is comfortable. It was meant for you, but
it fits me. Now perhaps you know."
"And Mr.--Mr. Trevor?" said Florence, in a trembling voice.
"Oh, he fits me too. He is a very good fellow, very nice indeed. He
thinks I am quite an angel; he admires my talent, as he calls it. I
believe he would be very sad if I were not there; he is much more likely
to go than I am. Yes, Florence, you did well for me when you lost that
Scholarship. I thought I would tell you."
"Oh! oh!" said Florence, trembling and turning pale; "but if Aunt Susan
knew! If she knew!"
"Yes, if she knew," said Bertha, "but she does not know, and of course
you won't tell her."
"You think I won't; but--but Mummy will."
"I don't think so. It would be much worse for yourselves if you did. I
can hoodwink her; I can turn her against your mother; I can make her
more bitterly opposed to you. Now you have to understand. I have long
felt that I must come to an understanding with you. You must keep
silence. If you speak you will do very little good, but it is possible
you may give me an uncomfortable half-hour. Now, I don't care to have an
uncomfortable half-hour, and, above all things, I don't want Mr. Trevor
set against me."
"Do you--do you mean to marry him?" said Florence abruptly.
Bertha Keys coloured very faintly.
"You are impertinent," she said; "I refuse to answer. I am comfortable
where I am, and I mean to stay there. If you put Mr. Trevor against me,
if you put Mrs. Aylmer against me, it will be all the worse for
yourself; but if, on the other hand, you respect my secret, I can make
things perhaps a shade more comfortable for you."
"Oh, oh, Bertha, no," said poor Florence. She covered her face--her
cheeks were crimson. "I hate you! I can never be your friend. Why did
you come here?"
"I came on purpose. I have not lost sight of you. You know something
about me which I do not want the world to know. You could make things
uncomfortable for me. I guessed that you would be coming here about now,
and Mrs. Aylmer, Mr. Trevor, and I came to the 'Crown and Garter' at my
suggestion. We will leave again the day after to-morrow; but not--not
until you have made me a promise."