A TEMPTING OFFER.
By the next train Bertha saw Maurice Trevor off to London. When she had
done so, she went slowly in the direction of the sands. She had induced
Mrs. Aylmer to put off her drive until the afternoon. Bertha was now
very anxious to see Florence.
In all probability Florence would be on the beach: she would know that
Bertha was coming to get the answer which Florence had not given her the
day before. She walked slowly, holding her parasol up to shade her face
from the sun, and thinking her thoughts.
"At any rate, Maurice Trevor is safe for the day," she said to herself;
"and before the evening has passed, I shall have Florence's promise that
she will not betray me to Mrs. Aylmer. Mrs. Aylmer is just the sort of
person, if Florence made the worst of things, to turn against me and
take Florence back again. Then indeed, she would be avenged, and I
should be routed. Such a state of things cannot be."
Bertha thought quickly. Her thoughts turned to a little account which
was weekly swelling in importance, and which stood to her credit in the
Post Office Savings Bank. She was intensely fond of money, but she knew
that the time had come when it might be necessary to sacrifice some of
her savings. Presently she gave a well-assumed start; said: "Hullo, Flo,
is that you?" and went to meet Florence Aylmer.
Florence's face was quite pale, and her eyes were red as if she had been
crying.
"Goodness!" said Bertha; "what does this mean? Have you had any domestic
calamity since I saw you last?"
"No, not any except what you are making," replied Florence. "I wish you
would go away, Bertha: I hate to see you again. I wish you would leave
me in peace."
"Well, darling, we return to Aylmer's Court to-morrow, so you will not
be long worried by us. I have just been seeing that nice young fellow,
Maurice Trevor, off to town."
"Indeed," answered Florence.
"Don't you like him extremely?" continued Bertha, giving her companion a
quick glance.
"I scarcely know him," replied Florence.
"But you do just know him. How did you become acquainted with him?"
"My mother introduced him."
"Ah! just like the little widow," said Bertha, in a thoughtful voice.
"Well, Flo, you and I have a good deal to say to each other. Let us walk
to the other end of the sands, where we shall be alone."
Florence hesitated. For a moment she looked as if she were going to
refuse; then she said, in an almost sulky tone: "Very well." They turned
in that direction and walked slowly. At last they reached the spot where
Mrs. Aylmer had discovered Kitty and Florence the day before.
"It was here I first saw him," thought Florence Aylmer to herself.
"What a true, good expression he had in his blue eyes. How upright he
looked! How different from Bertha! Oh, what a miserable wretched girl I
am! Why do I not tell Bertha that I do not fear her? Why should I put
myself in her power?"
At last they reached the rocks.
"It is nice here, and quite romantic," said Bertha; "we can come to our
little arrangement. You have made up your mind, of course, Florence,
that you will not speak to Mrs. Aylmer of what you know about me?"
"I do not see why I should keep your secret for you," said Florence; "I
do not particularly want to injure you, much as you injured me in the
past; but at the same time why should I make a promise about it? The
time may come when it will be to my benefit to tell Mrs. Aylmer what I
know."
"At the present moment she would not speak to you. She hates you as she
hates no one else in the world. Your very name is as a red rag to her.
If I want to rouse her worst passions, I have but to allude to you. Even
if you told her, she would not believe a word against me."
"I am not so sure of that. Mrs. Aylmer may be forced to listen to me,
and if you rouse my evil feelings I may tell her just to spite you,
Bertha."
"But you will not," said Bertha. "You want money badly. You would like
to be independent."
"That is quite true."
"You have had a fairly good education and you want to earn your own
living?"
"I mean to earn it."
"But you will require a little money until you do. Now, look here,
Florence: I don't want to injure you. I know I did long ago; I did it
for my own benefit. I was cast penniless on the world, and I was forced
to invent all kinds of subterfuges to make my way. I pity girls who are
placed as I was placed. I have now managed to get into a comfortable
nest. As I said before, I am in your nest. It suits me, and I do not
mean to go out of it; but I pity you, and I should like to help you.
Will you borrow a little money from me?"
"Borrow money from you? No, no," said Florence; but she trembled as she
said the words.
"I can quite conveniently lend you fifty pounds," continued Bertha,
gazing as she spoke across the summer sea. "It is not much, but it is
something. With fifty pounds in your pocket you can go, say to London or
to any other large town and advertise what you are worth. You have, I
presume, something to sell: some knowledge, for instance, which you can
impart to others; or perhaps you have a talent for writing. Don't you
remember our wonderful essay?"
"Don't!" said Florence; "don't!" She covered her face with her hands;
the crimson colour had flooded her face.
Bertha gave a queer smile.
"Now, I could earn money by writing essays," she said; "very smart
essays they would be, and I could earn money by writing stories.
Suppose, suppose I write stories still, and send them to you, and you
publish them as your own--how would that do? Why should you not? I like
writing stories, and I do not want money, and you could polish them up
if you liked and sell them as your own. That is an excellent idea. Will
you do it? I am quite agreeable. I will furnish you with a short story,
say, once a fortnight, or once a month. Will you take one with you and
try to sell it as your own? I can do it in the evenings, and you shall
have it. Don't you think that I am paying you well, now, to keep
silence? I am offering you an honourable livelihood, and in the meantime
there is the fifty pounds: you may as well have it; it will keep you
until the money for the stories comes in, and you can pay me back when
you like. I dare not appear before the world as a writer, for Mrs.
Aylmer is hard to please, and she would not like me to write or to do
anything but devote my time to her; but there are hours at night when
she goes to bed which I can devote to your service. Now, what do you
say? It seems to me to be a very good offer."
"It is a tempting offer, certainly," said Florence; "but I never thought
of writing. I have no particular taste for it."
"Well, think it over," said Bertha, rising as she spoke, "and in the
meantime I will send you the money this evening."
"Oh, I cannot take it; please don't."
"I will send it to you," said Bertha, in a gay voice; "it is quite
arranged. Good-bye, dear; I wish you success. When you are a great
writer we can cast up accounts and see on which side the balance lies.
You quite understand? I have a gift in that way which I think can be
turned to account. You will agree to do what I wish, will you not,
Florence?"
"It is all horrible! I do not know what to say," answered Florence.
"I see in your eyes that you mean to accept; you cannot help yourself.
You cannot possibly starve, and you will find when you go to London that
the posts of teachers and secretaries are overfull; but the writer of
clever short stories can always find a market for his or her wares."
Florence rose to her feet.
"I don't like it," she said; "I am thoroughly miserable. I wish there
were some other way; but there is not."
"Well, try for yourself before you think of the story part; but, anyhow,
you must take the fifty pounds--you really must."
Bertha rose, touched Florence lightly on her cheek, and before the other
girl could say a word turned and left her. She walked across the beach
now with a dancing step.
"I have scored a point," she said to herself; "Florence won't dare to
tell. She is as certain to accept that fifty pounds as she is to eat her
breakfast to-morrow morning. After all, I am very generous to her; but I
see my way, I think, to win Maurice Trevor. I see my way to prevent
these two becoming friends, and at the worst, if Maurice does meet
Florence again, and does fall in love with her, I shall take good care
that he is not Mrs. Aylmer's heir. It is but to alter her will and heigh
presto! the riches are mine!"