That evening late, Florence, in the seclusion of their chamber told
Brenda what had happened.
"You know," she said, "that we have nothing. I think it is dreadful of
Mr Timmins to make a mystery about it, and to let us appear before the
good folks at Langdale as apparently wealthy girls; but on one matter,
at least, I am obliged to him. This has given me the opportunity of
finding a true heart."
"A true heart, Flo?" said Brenda. "What do you mean?"
"What I say," answered Florence. "You know I took a walk to-day with
Michael Reid."
"Oh, with poor old Michael," said Brenda, in a tone as much as to say
that Michael at least did not count for much, that he was a poor sort of
fellow, and need not agitate the girls just then. But Florence's next
words astonished her elder sister very much.
"I am a year younger than you," said Florence, "and I have been proposed
for before you, Brenda. Michael cares for me; he cares for me for
myself alone. He absolutely wants me to be poor, very poor, as poor as
a church mouse, he says, in order that he may show to all the world how
deeply he loves me. He doesn't care for me in the very least because he
thinks I have money. He wants me to be poor: he told me all about it
to-day. He mentioned the subject first at the Arbuthnots' Christmas
party, but he spoke of it again to-day when we were walking home. He
looked very, very handsome; and I--I quite think I like him."
"Oh, you poor little innocent Florence!" said Brenda. "But you don't
know anything about men at all. It was very mean of him to speak to
you, very mean of him to take advantage of you. Yes, it was, Flo; I
cannot help saying it. It was wrong of him; he ought not to have done
it."
"He did nothing wrong," said Florence; "he spoke up like a man. I
suppose a man can't help loving a girl."
"He ought not to have done it like that," repeated Brenda. "I know I am
right: he ought on no account to have done it like that."
"It is very queer of you to speak to me in that tone, Brenda," said her
sister, "and I must say that I am very much astonished. I cannot
understand what you mean. Why should not Michael care for me? He is a
gentleman: he is an officer in the King's army. We know his father; we
know his people. I don't know why you should talk to me like that. I
suppose a man will propose to me some day, just as some one will propose
to you, darling Brenda; and you will love him with all your heart and
soul."
"Oh, I don't know," said Brenda. "I am not beautiful like you, Flo.
But tell me all about it, darling. You startled me very much when you
first spoke, and I suppose I did wrong to be a little bit annoyed. It
hurts me to think that my only darling sister should care for any one
else better than me."
"But I don't know that I do," said Florence; "only of course," she
added, "he was very nice, and he did say so emphatically that he only
cared for me for myself."
"And what did you say to him, Flo?"
"I told him that he had startled me, and that I wanted a month to think
it over. He would not give me a month, but he gave me a week. What I
feel is this, Brenda: that he must know all about our changed
circumstances before I give him my true answer. Then if he comes
forward, as indeed I know he will, I shall feel at least assured that he
cares for me for myself."
"And who would not care for you for yourself," said her sister, putting
her arms round the girl's neck and kissing her with great affection.
"Why, aren't you just the dearest creature in the world? Won't you make
the very sweetest wife? But all the same," she added, "I don't know how
Mr Reid can marry any one at present, for he can't be well off. I know
the Major has barely enough to live on."
"We should be very poor, of course," said Florence; "but he seems to
like that. After all," she continued, "what I thought was this: that I
might, if I go on liking him as much as I do now, be engaged to him, and
we could wait a year or so while I--I was earning money. It does seem
so queer to think that I should have to earn money in any way; and I am
sure I haven't the faintest idea how to set about it--not the very
faintest. But I suppose Mr Timmins will give us some sort of
directions to-morrow."
"I suppose he will," said Brenda. "It is queer, the whole thing. We
have been allowed to grow up, you and I, as though we were rich girls.
We have had every possible luxury and every possible educational
advantage, and I know the people at Langdale think us rich enough, and
yet we haven't a penny in the world."
"Oh yes!" said Florence; "we have seventy-five pounds; don't forget
that: that is quite a good sum--at least, it seems so to me."
"Half of it would buy your trousseau--at least some sort of trousseau
for you, if you decide to marry the lieutenant at once," said Brenda.
Then she added: "It is all very puzzling; but you must do what you think
right; only we won't tell Mrs Fortescue anything whatever about it."
After this conversation, the girls went to bed, and both slept the sleep
of the just, pretty Florence looking prettier than ever in her happy
innocent dreams--for was she not loved just for her very self alone, and
was not that something to be proud of?
They were awakened early in the morning by Mrs Fortescue, who herself
brought them tea to their room, and fussed over them, and paid them a
vast amount of attention, and begged of them, as they were getting ready
for their journey, not to forget to put in a good word for her when Mr
Timmins talked about their future plans. She was quite excited about
them, and her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes had a hard, worried
look. Brenda felt as though they were exceedingly deceitful to her, but
Florence was thinking of Lieutenant Reid, and had not much time to
consider Mrs Fortescue and her future.
A cab arrived in good time to take them to the station. Mrs Fortescue
herself accompanied them to the train, and purchased their tickets for
them out of the postal order which had been cashed the day before, and
which left enough over to provide them with cabs when they got to
London. She herself saw them into a first-class carriage marked "For
Ladies only," and she gave them also into the charge of the guard,
paying him five shillings in advance for looking after them. It is true
she paid him this money out of the girls' own little fund, but it quite
looked as if she were spending her own worldly goods for their
advantage. The last thing they saw as they left the little station was
her kind and yet anxious face gazing after them. She was blowing kisses
to them, and wondering most anxiously what would happen between now and
the evening when she was to meet their train again.
"I do feel," said Florence, as the train brought them beyond the narrow
confines of the little town of Langdale, "that we are deceiving dear
Mrs Fortescue most horribly."
"Well, it's no fault of ours," said Brenda; "we'll have to undeceive her
to-morrow. But, after all, she won't suffer, for Mr Timmins will pay
her in full for keeping us until the end of the holidays; and then,
instead of going back to school, we'll begin our life's work. I do feel
excited about what is going to happen to-day, don't you, Florence?"
Florence said she did, and sat book in her seat. But her thoughts were
considerably absorbed with Lieutenant Reid. She was wondering what he
was doing, and how he was spending his time, and considering how she
would pass her own time until that day next week, when she could tell
him that he might have his very heart's desire, and that a girl, poor as
the poorest church mouse, would be willing to marry him.
"How glad he will be," thought Florence. "He is very nice, very nice
indeed; but, of course, we must be engaged for some time before we think
of marrying, for I could not leave darling Brenda until she was safely
secure with some sort of livelihood."
They arrived in London between eleven and twelve o'clock, and were met
at the station by one of Mr Timmins' clerks--a grave, elderly-looking
man of the name of Andrews. The girls had never seen him before, but he
had been given explicit directions by Mr Timmins to look out for young
ladies bearing a certain appearance, and as no other girl quite so
pretty as Florence stepped out of the train, he went up to her at once
and asked if she was Miss Heathcote.
Florence replied in the affirmative.
They were then ushered by Mr Andrews into a very comfortable private
brougham which belonged to Mr Timmins, and were taken straight to his
office in Chancery Lane.
Mr Timmins was the head of a large firm of solicitors, and the girls
passed through many rooms full of clerks, both old and young, who looked
up as they passed by and gazed at them with admiration. Even Brenda was
a pretty girl, but Florence was quite above the ordinary with regard to
good looks. There was something so fresh and innocent, and withal
pathetic, about the young creatures, that the men who watched them felt
their hearts softening both with admiration and affection. Those who
were old thought that they would like such girls to be their daughters,
and those who were young felt instinctively that such girls would make
good wives and sisters. The girls passed through the different rooms,
and were presently ushered into Mr Timmins' own private sanctum.
He was waiting for them, and was quite alone. He gave them both a very
hearty welcome, and desired them to take off their hats and jackets and
sit near the fire. Brenda obeyed at once, but Florence looked restless
and impatient.
"I suppose," she said, after a minute's pause, while she was fiddling
with a feather boa which she wore round her neck, "you will tell us
to-day, Mr Timmins, just what we are to do in the future."
"I have sent for you for that purpose," he replied.
"We have got to earn our living, haven't we?" said Florence.
"Well," he replied, speaking slowly, "girls who have no money have, as a
rule, to earn their living."
Florence looked at Brenda and half smiled, but Brenda's sweet face was
very grave.
"Sit down, Florence," she said: "don't be impatient. Let us wait until
we hear what Mr Timmins has to say."
"Yes; that is quite right, Brenda," said Mr Timmins. "Florence, please
take your sealskin jacket off, and your hat: you will be much too hot in
this room if you don't." Florence now hesitated no longer. She took
her pretty cap off, pushed back her chestnut hair, and unfastened her
sealskin jacket. She then sank book in the easy-chair provided for her
by Mr Timmins.
"Now, my dears," said the good man, "I told you the other day that I
would send for you when I had something in my mind's eye for your
benefit; and I think I have something. It is my proposal, therefore,
that we shall first of all partake of a little lunch. You must be very
hungry, both of you, for I know you started from Langdale at nine
o'clock; and afterwards we will go to see Lady Marian Dixie."
"But what can she want with us?" said Brenda.
"She will tell you herself," said Mr Timmins, in his grave voice.
"And we have just seventy-five pounds to live on," said Florence. "It
seems a good deal of money, for although, Mr Timmins, although you were
always very generous, you did not give us a lot of pocket money; you
just bought our clothes for us, and paid our school bills, and paid Mrs
Fortescue in the holidays; but we ourselves never had much, had we,
Brenda?"
"Good gracious!" said Mr Timmins--he threw up his hands as he
spoke--"you cost hundreds a year, girls--hundreds a year."
"Then," said Florence, still speaking gravely and taking the lead, which
completely astonished her sister Brenda, "don't you think you did
exceedingly wrong to waste all that money on us when you knew that by
and by we should have nothing?"
Mr Timmins turned rather red.
"I sent you the account in full, didn't I, Brenda?" he said.
"You sent me an account," said Brenda; "but, to tell you the truth, I
haven't read it yet."
"Oh!" said Mr Timmins, with a groan. "How exactly like all other women
you are. Nothing will make a woman careful with regard to money. The
fact is, she needs a husband to look after her. I wish you two were
provided with good husbands, that I do. But there--no one will look at
a penniless girl in these days, even though she is as pretty as my
friend Florence."
Florence coloured very high. She looked full at Brenda. Then she said
quickly--
"There is one man who will look at a penniless girl, and marry her too,
if she wishes to marry him."
"What do you mean?" said Mr Timmins. "I am glad you have spoken of it,
Florence," said Brenda. "Even if you had not, I should feel it my duty
to do so."
"Oh, tell him yourself, tell him yourself!" said Florence. She sprang
from her seat by the fire. "Tell Him when I am not in the room. I want
him to know: I want you two to talk it over. Is there no private room
where I can go while you are talking it over, Mr Timmins? Is this your
only private room?" Mr Timmins looked quite excited: nay, more--he
looked delighted.
"Do you see that door, Florence?" he said. "Open it; and you will find
a little room with a fire. A clerk may be sitting at his table writing
letters for me, but he won't trouble you. Here is to-day's copy of _The
Times_, my dear: you can take this with you to read. An intelligent,
well-educated girl ought to read her _Times_ every day. I have ordered
lunch to be here in a quarter of an hour; so you had better go at once
if you really wish Brenda to tell me your story."
Florence got up. She felt red all over. There was a tingling sensation
down her back. She was half ashamed and half proud. Her lover was
assuming a magnitude in her eyes. He must really be a most heroic
person to wish to marry her even though she had not a penny. According
to Mr Timmins, men never did marry penniless girls in these days, even
though the girls were beautiful.
She quickly reached the shelter of the little room, shut the door behind
her and, sitting down with her back to the clerk, pretended to read _The
Times_. Meanwhile, Mr Timmins turned anxiously to Brenda.
"What does this mean? what is it, Brenda?" he said. "Why, Flo--she is
quite a child: how old is she, Brenda?"
"Eighteen," said Brenda at once. "Just a year younger than I am."
"Well, tell me all about it."
"I will tell you what I know," said Brenda. "We have been, as you know,
visitors at Langdale for several years. It is true that Mrs Fortescue
has taken us to the seaside in the summer, but we have invariably spent
our Easter and Christmas holidays at Langdale, and we have got to know
the people. In especial, we have got to know the Arbuthnots, who are,
in my opinion, absolutely sweet; and there are the Misses Salter, who
are very kind and very, very nice; and there is Major Reid--a dear old
gentleman--and Major Reid's son. It is about Major Reid's son I want to
tell you."
"Yes--yes!" said Mr Timmins, in an impatient and very anxious voice.
"He is in the Army," continued Brenda. "He is quite young--I don't know
his age, but he cannot be twenty-five yet. He is a lieutenant in one of
His Majesty's regiments of foot, and we have known him since he was a
young lad and we were children. I never did notice that he especially
cared about Florence; but this Christmas his manners were completely
changed--in fact, the other day, he asked her to marry him."
"Thinking that she would be an heiress, no doubt, the young scoundrel!"
said Mr Timmins, with an angry twist of his person as he spoke.
"Oh no; there you wrong him. He told Florence most emphatically that he
cared for her only for herself, and he would marry her gladly if she
were as poor as a church mouse. Now, I don't know why church mice
should be especially poor; but that was his expression, and it has had a
great weight with Florence, who knew the truth all the time, but could
not tell him on account of her promise to you."
"Ha!" said Mr Timmins. "She never told him--the little witch--did
she?"
"Of course she didn't. She had faithfully promised you not to breathe
it to a soul."
"And what sort is he, Brenda? You can tell me, because you are not in
love with him. Now, give me a fair and unbiassed opinion of what sort
the young man is."
"He is quite good-looking, and quite gentlemanly," said Brenda at once.
"His father is a dear old gentleman, and I believe the family is a good
one. He is the only child, and his mother has been dead for a long
time. His father thinks a lot about Michael, I know."
"Then I suppose the father will be able to leave the son something?"
"I don't know anything about that. I fancy they are both poor. Major
Reid has his pension, of course, but I should not imagine they have much
private means. They live in a little house, but they are quite nice
people."
"You wouldn't mind your sister marrying him, would you?"
"Not if she loved him."
"Thank you very much, Brenda. You can't tell me any more for the
present."
"Do you think he will propose to her when he knows--or rather do you
think he will renew his proposal?" asked Brenda anxiously.
"That remains to be proved, my dear. Ah! here comes lunch. We will,
for the time at least, consider that the young man is faithful and means
what he says. Time alone can prove what his true sentiments are. Call
your sister back; this will make a little change in my arrangements for
you both."
Florence re-entered the room. She had not found the copy of the day's
_Times_ particularly interesting. Her cheeks were still flushed. She
looked with apprehension at Mr Timmins, but kind Mr Timmins patted her
on the shoulder and said, "Good girl, good girl!" in an appreciative
way, which put her at her ease at once; so much so, that she thoroughly
enjoyed the very excellent repast which was sent in from a neighbouring
restaurant, and of which both girls ate with appetite. When it was
over, Mr Timmins said--
"Now, my dears, I want to say something to you."
They both looked at him attentively.
"I am going to take you, Florence, and you, Brenda, to see my old
friend, Lady Marian Dixie. She is an elderly woman and full of the milk
of human kindness. She will talk to you herself, and I will not tell
you beforehand what she is likely to say: indeed, it would be difficult
for me to do so, for I do not know myself. Afterwards, the
probabilities are that you, Florence, will go back to Langdale, and that
Brenda will stay with Lady Marian."
"What?" said Brenda with a start.
Mr Timmins looked at her with affection.
"That is what is most likely to happen," he said: "but I can't tell you
anything. You must both be obedient and good, for the present, and
allow me to guide you. I have your very best interests at heart. I am
a friend to you both, as I was to your father and your mother before
you. Lady Marian also knew your mother well. Don't forget that when
you are talking to her to-day."
"And I," said Florence, "am I to tell Mrs Fortescue--"
"Nothing of the sort, my dear: I should be sorry to give you such a
piece of work. I will myself write to Mrs Fortescue, and tell her that
her services, as far as you both are concerned, will come to an end on
the twentieth of January, that Brenda has found a home--as I expect will
be probable--with Lady Marian Dixie, and that she will be paid for you
both until that date."
"And I?" said Florence, once more.
"Ah, Florence," said the old lawyer; "better things may be in store for
you; but time will prove. There is nothing, my dear, in all the world,
like disinterested affection, like the true, true homage of the heart,
which has nothing to do with money nor outward accessories. In fact, my
dear girls, I may as well tell you that I have the greatest horror of
those men who are known as fortune seekers, the men who court girls
simply because they want their money. A girl who has not money has a
very poor chance in the society in which she usually moves. I do not
know which is the worst off, the handsome poor girl who is attracted by
the rich _parvenu_ and marries him for his wealth, or the handsome poor
man who marries the rich girl because of her money. You, my dears, will
at least be saved from this calamity. But now, come; I have ordered the
brougham to be ready for us at a quarter-past one, and I think the time
is up. I will ring for Andrews. You, Florence, will be on your way
back to Langdale soon after three o'clock, so we have not too much time
to spare."
Andrews answered the summons of his chief, and assured him that the
brougham was waiting just outside the little court where the celebrated
firm of Timmins and Co conducted their highly successful business. He
himself accompanied his chief and the two young ladies to the carriage.
Mr Timmins looked critically at his young charges.
"Is there anything you both happen to want in the world of dress?" he
said. "I don't say for a single moment that you have any means to buy
yourselves luxuries, but just now it might be just possible for me--Oh,
by no means as a present! but, nevertheless, it might be possible for me
to give you some little things that you might require. Just say the
word, my dears: do not hesitate. I know girls want so many pretty
things--gloves, shoes, boots, hats, handkerchiefs, etc, etc."
But the Heathcote girls assured good Mr Timmins that they were well
supplied with all these necessaries. They took care to assure him that
there was not a single thing that they required, and he was forced to
accept their word, although he seemed more uneasy than pleased when they
rejected any sort of help on his part.
They drove across St James' Park, and then down a quiet street, until
at last the carriage stopped before Lady Marian Dixie's door. Here a
grave man in livery and with powdered hair immediately answered the
bell. He assured Andrews that his mistress was within. Mr Timmins got
out of the carriage and had a private word with him. He then turned to
the girls.
"Hudson," he said, "will show you into the dining-room for a few minutes
while I talk to Lady Marian."
He went upstairs quite lightly, two steps at a time, and the girls stood
and faced each other in the great dining-room of the house in Cadogan
Place. Florence looked full at Brenda.
"Brenda," she said, "if I had thought for a single moment that this sort
of half engagement--for it scarcely amounts to that--which now exists
between Michael Reid and myself would part me from you, I should never
have consented to it. I don't want to go back to Langdale alone. I
don't want to, I don't wish to, I won't go back without you. You must
come back with me, Brenda, darling Brenda!"
"No," said Brenda; "we must do what is right: we are not choosers any
longer and you know, Florence, that we are in the position of girls who
have to earn their own living, and if I can earn mine here, why, I must;
and if you can bring yourself to get engaged to Michael Reid, why then,
some employment will be found for you until he is well enough off to
marry. I assure you, Mr Timmins seemed quite pleased when he heard of
all that Michael had said to you."
"I do like him myself!--the more I think of him, the more I like him,"
said Florence.
"But all the same," she added, "it is odious going back to Langdale
without you! and then when Mrs Fortescue finds out, it will be awful,
awful!"
"No: I don't think it will," said Brenda. "I am sure Mr Timmins will
be exceedingly careful not to make anything awful for you, Florence.
Ah! and here he comes."
The door was opened, and Mr Timmins came in. He was accompanied by a
beautiful old lady, whose hair was snowy white. She wore a white cap
made of Brussels lace. She was dressed in soft grey and wore a white
embroidered scarf round her shoulders. Any one more elegant and
altogether lovely than this old person the girls had never seen. She
was as far removed from the people at Langdale as light is from
darkness. Each movement was aristocratic, and in addition to that, she
had one of the kindest faces in the world.
"How do you do, my dears?" she said, coming forward at once and taking a
hand of each. "Now, let me guess to whom I am speaking. Yes, this must
be Brenda. Brenda, you have such a look of your mother. I used to know
her very, very well indeed a long time ago; and this, of course, is
Florence; she has got her father's eyes. Well, come upstairs with me,
dears, won't you? and let us have a chat together."
The girls followed the old lady upstairs, but when they reached the
drawing-room landing, they were astonished to find that Mr Timmins had
not followed them.
"Where is Mr Timmins?" asked Florence at once.
"He will see you back to the railway station presently, Florence," was
Lady Marian's reply. "He would rather we had a chat all alone for the
time being."
She took them both into a snug room, made them seat themselves, and then
began to talk in an easy and pleasant way. When the girls had both got
over their first shyness, she asked Brenda if she would come to her on a
visit for three months.
"It is quite a short time," she said; "but I name three months because I
know you would like a limit to the time you propose to spend with me.
During that period, I hope you will consider yourself in every respect
my guest. I don't offer you any salary, my dear, but I will give you
what clothes are necessary, and you in return will write some letters
for me and occasionally read aloud to me. I hope to make you quite
happy. I would do more, far more than this for your mother's daughter."
"But what about Florence?" said Brenda, her pretty eyes filling with
tears.
"Ah well," said Lady Marian; "I did intend to offer the same hospitality
to Florence, and she is at liberty to come to me if she wishes; but I
think it is only fair to her to let her return to Langdale; at least for
the present. If you do want to come to me, Florence, you have only to
send me a letter."
"To come on a visit?" asked Florence.
"Well, yes," said the old lady. "I do not want a companion. You see, I
have my maid Pearson, who has been with me for many long years, and who
understands all my requirements. But I will do far you what I do for
your sister, and it is only a matter of three months. At the end of
that time you must, of course, both of you find some means of earning
your living."
Florence rose proudly to her feet.
"Very well," she said. "I do not think I will trouble you."
There was a distressed look on her face, and Brenda never felt nearer
crying in the whole course of her life.
"Oh, Florence," she said, "I would give all the wide world to be going
back with you to Langdale to-day!" Then she turned to Lady Marian. "I
know well," she said, "that you mean to be kind, but you cannot possibly
tell what this means to homeless girls who have never been parted before
in the whole course of their lives."
"I can quite understand what you are suffering, dear," said Lady Marian;
"but we all have to go through pain; it is part of our great purgatory,
but it draws out the good in us and develops qualities which without it
might perish. Now I know you have plenty to say to each other, and Mr
Timmins will come back for Florence in less than an hour. I will leave
you here to talk to each other until he arrives."
As Lady Marian spoke, she left the room. The moment they were alone,
Florence flung herself into Brenda's arms and burst out crying.
"I never felt so wretched in all my life!" she said. "I almost hate
Michael! But for him I should be staying with you here; and yet how
could I stay just on a visit with that old lady? It is all very well
for her to say that she was a friend of our mother's, but she is no
friend of ours."
"She seems very kind, very kind indeed," said Brenda; "and I know she
will be good to me. I will write to you every day, Florence."
"Yes, do," said Florence. "But oh! I am a miserable girl!"
She cried long and hard, and when at last Mr Timmins came to fetch her,
her face was quite disfigured by her bitter sobbing.
"Come, come," he said, "this will never do. You will smile at this dark
hour some day, Miss Florence. But now we have just barely time to reach
the railway station. I am going to send Andrews with you as far as
Langdale, as I prefer your not travelling alone." Florence could not
help thinking how strange the circumstances of their lives had become.
They were very poor girls. They were absolutely without a penny in the
world--that is, almost without a penny; and yet they had to travel
first-class, and one girl would not be allowed to go back to Langdale
alone. She turned to Mr Timmins. An idea came to her.
"If we are to be poor," she said, "and to earn our living, why don't you
let us begin at once? It is far, far kinder than allowing us to spend
our last penny and then starting us on this cold world with nothing to
protect us against its rebuffs."
"But you, Florence," said the old man, "have secured the love of an
honest heart. You surely, at least, are not to be pitied."
"That is true," she said; and the thought certainly did give her
comfort. Michael--dear, handsome Michael--wished her to be as poor as a
church mouse. Well, she was: there was no doubt of that.
As Mr Timmins was parting from her at the railway station, he slipped
ten pounds into her hand.
"You must have a little ready money to spend," he said. "Be exceedingly
careful of it."
"Is it part of our seventy-five pounds?" she asked.
He nodded. There was a strange expression on his face.
"Good-bye for the present, dear child," he said. "Tell Mrs Fortescue
to-night when you see her, that your sister is staying with Lady Marian
Dixie, and that I will write to her myself to-morrow or next day. It is
quite unnecessary that she should know anything about your
circumstances. Whatever you do in the future, Langdale is scarcely
likely to be your home."