TREVOR ASKS BERTHA'S ADVICE.
That same evening, when Mrs. Aylmer had retired to bed and Bertha was
about to go to her own room, she met Trevor on the stairs.
"Are you disengaged?" he said. "I should like to speak to you for a
moment or two."
"I am certainly disengaged to you," she replied. "What can I do for
you?"
"Come back to the drawing-room; the lamps are still alight. I won't keep
you many minutes."
They both re-entered the beautiful room. The night was so warm that the
windows were open; the footman appeared and prepared to close them, but
Trevor motioned him back.
"I will shut up the room," he said; "you need not wait up."
The man withdrew, closing the door softly behind him.
Bertha found herself standing close to Trevor. She looked into his face
and noted with a sense of approval how handsome and manly and
simple-looking he was. An ideal young Englishman, without guile or
reproach. He was looking back at her, and once more that peculiar
expression in his honest blue eyes appeared.
"I want to consult with you," he said: "something is giving me a good
deal of uneasiness."
"What is that, Mr. Trevor?"
"When I was in town I met Miss Florence Aylmer."
"Did you really? How interesting!" Bertha dropped lightly into the
nearest chair. "Well, and how was the dear Florence? Had she got a berth
of any sort? Is she very busy? She is terribly poor, you know."
"She is disgracefully, shamefully poor," was his answer, spoken with
some indignation, the colour flaming over his face as he spoke.
Bertha did not say anything, but she looked full at him. After a
moment's pause, she uttered one word softly and half below her breath,
and that word was simply: "Yes?"
"She is disgracefully poor!" he repeated. "Miss Keys, that ought not to
be the case."
"I do not understand you," said Bertha.
"May I explain?" He dropped into a chair near her, and bent forward; his
hands were within a couple of inches of hers as they lay in her lap.
"I have had a talk with Miss Aylmer, and find that she is my friend's
niece. My benefactress, the lady who has adopted me, is aunt by marriage
to the girl, who is now struggling hard to earn a living in London.
Between that girl and starvation there is but a very thin wall. I am in
a false position. I ought to have nothing to do with Mrs. Aylmer.
Florence Aylmer is her rightful heiress; I am in the wrong place. I
thought I would speak to you. What would you advise?"
"How chivalrous you are!" said Bertha, and she looked at him again, and
her queer big eyes were full of a soft light, a dangerous light of
admiration.
He said to himself: "I never knew before how handsome you could be at
times!" and then he turned away, as if he did not want to look at her.
"You are very chivalrous," she said slowly; "but what can you do?"
"You see how manifestly unfair the whole thing is," continued the young
man. "I am no relation whatever to Mrs. Aylmer. She knew my mother, it
is true; she wanted an heir, and took a fancy to me; she has promised
that I am to inherit her wealth. Have you the least idea what her income
is, or what wealth I am in the future likely to possess?"
"You will be a very rich man," said Bertha slowly.
"How do you know?"
"Because Mrs. Aylmer has a large yearly income. Her landed estates are
considerable, and she has money in many stocks and shares. She has
enough money in English Consols alone to give you a considerable yearly
income. Think what that means. This money you can realise at a moment's
notice. Her own income I cannot exactly tell you; but this I do know,
that she does not spend half of it. Thus she is accumulating money, and
she means to give it all to you."
"But it is unfair. It cannot be right. I will not accept it."
"Is that kind to your mother? You left off your professional studies in
order to take your present position. You thought of your mother at the
time. You have often spoken to me about her and your great love for
her."
"I love her, and because I love her I cannot accept the present state of
things."
"Why did you accept them in the beginning?"
"I knew nothing of Florence Aylmer: she is the rightful heiress."
"Do you think, if you refuse all this wealth, that she will inherit it?"
"Why not? She ought to inherit it. But there, I have spoken to you; I
have but little more to say. My mind is made up. No objections you can
urge will make me alter what I have firmly resolved to do. I shall talk
to Mrs. Aylmer about her niece to-morrow. I will show her how wrong she
is. I will ask her to put that wrong right."
Bertha gave a low laugh. The fear which had risen again in her breast
was not allowed to appear; she knew that she must be very careful or she
would betray herself. She thought for a moment; then she said softly:
"You must do as you please. After all, this is scarcely my affair; but I
will tell you what I know."
"What is that?"
"Florence Aylmer at one time did something which offended Mrs. Aylmer."
"Poor girl she told me so herself. What could any young girl do to have
such a punishment meted out to her? She ought to be here in your place,
Miss Keys; she ought to be here in my place. You and I are not wanted in
this establishment."
"Oh, why do you say that? Mrs. Aylmer must have a companion."
"Well, you can please yourself, of course; but I cannot stay to see
injustice done to another."
"You cannot force Mrs. Aylmer to leave her money except where she
pleases. She dislikes Miss Aylmer; she will have nothing to do with her,
and she will be very angry with you. You refuse the money and you do not
make things any better for Miss Aylmer. Mrs. Aylmer can leave her money
to charities. It is easily disposed of."
Trevor sat quite still, gazing out into the summer night. After a pause
he walked towards the window and closed it. He fastened the bolts and
drew down the blinds; then he turned to Bertha and held out his hand.
"I thought you could have counselled me, but I see you are not on my
side," he said. "Good night."
"There is only one thing I must add," said Bertha.
"What is that?"
"If you deliberately choose to injure yourself you must not injure me."
"What do you mean by that? How can I possibly injure you?"
"You can say what you like with regard to Florence Aylmer, but you must
not mention one fact."
"What is that?"
"That I happen to know her."
"What do you mean?"
"I do not choose to say what I mean. I trust to your honour not to
injure a woman quite as dependent and quite as penniless as Florence
Aylmer. I have secured this place, and I wish to stay here. If you are
mad, I am sane. I ask you not to mention to Mrs. Aylmer that I know
Florence; otherwise, you must go your own gait."
"I will, of course, respect your confidence, but I do not understand
you."
"Some day you will, and also what a great fool you are making of
yourself," was Bertha's next remark.
She sailed past him out of the room and up to her own bed-room.