The Time of Roses

CHAPTER XX.

ROSE VIEW

It was a most glorious Sunday, and Florence felt cheered as she dressed for her visit to Hampstead. She resolved to put all disagreeable things out of sight.

"I fell before," she said to herself, "and I am falling again. I am afraid there is nothing good in me: there is certainly nothing stable in me. I yielded to temptation when I was a girl at school, and I am yielding now. I have put myself again into the power of an unscrupulous woman. But for to-day at least I will be happy; I will banish dull care."

So she made herself look as bright and pretty as she could in a white washing dress. She wore a smart sailor hat, and, putting on some white washing gloves, ran downstairs. On one of the landings she met Edith Franks.

"Whither away?" asked that young lady.

"I am going to Hampstead to spend the day with friends."

"That is very nice. I know Hampstead well. What part are you going to?"

"Close to the heath: to people of the name of Trevor."

"Not surely to Mrs. Trevor, of Rose View?" exclaimed Edith Franks, starting back a step and raising her brows as she spoke.

"Yes."

"And do you know her son, that most charming fellow, Maurice Trevor?"

"I know him slightly."

"Oh, but this is really delightful. We have been friends with the Trevors, Tom and I, ever since we were children. This seems to be quite a new turn to our friendship, does it not?"

Florence felt herself both cold and stiff. She longed to be friendly with Edith, who was, she was well aware, all that was kind; nevertheless, a strange sensation of depression and of coming trouble was over her.

"She is kind; but she may tempt me to do what is wrong," thought poor Florence.

"I don't know the Trevors well," she answered. "I have met Mr. Trevor once or twice, but I have never even seen his mother. His mother has been kind enough to ask me to spend to-day with her. I will say good-bye now."

"Be sure you give my love to dear Mrs. Trevor, and remember me to Maurice. Tell him, with my kind regards, that I commiserate him very much."

"Why so?" asked Florence.

"Because he has had the bad luck to be adopted by a rich, eccentric old lady, and he will lose all his personality. Tell him I wouldn't be in his shoes for anything, and now ta! ta! I see you are dying to be off."

Edith went back to her room, and Florence ran downstairs, entered an omnibus which would convey her the greater part of the way to Hampstead, and arrived there a little before ten o'clock. As she was walking up the little path to the Trevors' cottage, Maurice Trevor came down to meet her.

"How do you do?" he said, shaking hands with her and taking her immediately into the house.

Mrs. Trevor was standing in the porch.

"This is Miss Aylmer, mother," said the young man.

Mrs. Trevor held out her hand, looked earnestly into Florence's face, then drew her towards her and kissed her.

"I am glad to see you, my dear," she said; "my son has told me about you. Welcome to Rose View; I hope you like the place."

Florence looked around her and gave an exclamation of surprise and delight. The house was a very small one, but it stood in a perfect bower of roses: they were climbing all over the house, and blooming in the garden: there were standard roses, yellow, white, and pink, moss-roses, the old-fashioned cabbage-rose, and Scotch roses, little white and red ones.

"I never saw anything like it," said Florence, forgetting herself in her astonishment and delight.

Mrs. Trevor watched her face.

"She is a nice girl, but she has some trouble behind," thought the widow to herself.

"We will go round the garden," she said; "it is not time for church yet. I am not able to go this morning, but Maurice will take you presently. You have just to cross the heath and you can go to a dear little church, quite in the depths of the country. I never need change of air here in my rose-bower. But come: what roses shall I pick for you?"

"I must give Miss Aylmer her flowers, as she is practically my guest," said Trevor, coming forward at that moment. He picked a moss-rose bud and a few Scotch roses, made them into a posy, and gave them to Florence. She placed the flowers in her belt; her cheeks were already bright with colour, and her eyes were dewy with happiness. She bent down several times to sniff the fragrance of the flowers. Mrs. Trevor drew her out to talk, and soon she was chatting and laughing, and looked like a girl who had not a care in the world.

"I never saw anything so sweet," she said. "How have you managed to make all these roses bloom at once?"

"I study roses; they are my specialty. I think roses are the great joy of my life," said Mrs. Trevor. But as she spoke she glanced at her stalwart, handsome son, and Florence guessed that he was his mother's idol, and wondered how she could part with him to Mrs. Aylmer.

"The church bells are beginning to ring," he said suddenly; "would you like to go to church or would you rather just wander about the heath?"

"I think I would rather stay on the heath this morning," said Florence. She coloured as she spoke. "I do not feel very churchy," she added.

"All right: we'll have our service out of doors then; we'll be back, mother, in time for lunch."

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."

CHAPTER XXII.

THE STORY ACCEPTED

Tea was ready prepared. The sun came out after the heavy shower, and Florence found the Trevors even more kind and agreeable than they had been at lunch. When the meal was over, Trevor called his mother out of the room. He spoke to her for a few moments alone, and then she re-entered the little drawing-room.

Florence was seated by the open window, looking out. She was resting her chin on the palm of her hand as she gazed across the rose-garden. At that moment Trevor went quietly by. He stooped to pick one or two roses; then he turned and looked at Florence. Florence smiled very faintly, and a rush of colour came into Trevor's face. Mrs. Trevor then came up to Florence and spoke.

"I do it because my son wishes it," she said, "and I also do it because I take an interest in you. He has told me of your great success in the literary market. You, young and inexperienced, have had an article accepted by so great a magazine as the Argonaut. You scarcely know what an immense success you have won. I did not, of course, understand what your occupation in London was likely to be; but if you are to be a writer, why not come and live with me here? I have a nice little room which I can offer you, and this drawing-room will always be at your disposal, for I sit as a rule in my dining-room. You can go into town when you want to, and you will make me happy, and – and I think Maurice would like it."

As Mrs. Trevor spoke she looked full at the girl, and Florence found herself trembling and even colouring as Trevor's name was mentioned.

"Will you think over it, my dear," said Mrs. Trevor, "and let me know?"

"I will think over it and let you know. You are very kind to me. I scarcely know how to thank you enough," replied Florence.

"As to the terms," continued Mrs. Trevor, "they would be very moderate. My cottage is my own, and I have few expenses. I could take you in and make you comfortable for fifteen shillings a week."

"Oh!" said Florence. She thought of that money which was getting daily less. She looked into the lovely garden and her heart swelled within her. Her first impulse was to throw her arms round Mrs. Trevor's neck: to say it would be peace, comfort, and happiness to live with her. She would save money, and her worst anxieties would be removed. But she restrained herself. There was a heavy weight pressing against her heart, and even the widow's kindness scarcely touched her.

"I will let you know. You are more than kind," she said.

A moment afterwards she had said good-bye to Mrs. Trevor, and Maurice and she were hurrying down the hill to meet the omnibus which was to convey the girl back to Prince's Mansions.

"My mother has told you what we both wish?" he said. "To be honest with you, I feel that we owe you something. I am usurping your place; I can never get over that fact."

"I wish you wouldn't think of it, for it is not the truth," said Florence. "I have told you already that even if you did not exist I should never inherit a farthing of my aunt's money, and what is more," she added, the crimson dyeing her cheeks, "I wouldn't take it if she offered it to me."

"You are a strange girl," he said. He bade her good-bye as she entered the omnibus, and then turned to walk up Hampstead Hill once again.

The next day at twelve o'clock Florence Aylmer, neatly dressed, and looking bright and purposeful, and no longer overpowered by any sense of remorse, appeared at Mr. Anderson's office. She was received with the politeness which is ever accorded to the successful. The very clerks in the outer office seemed to know that she was not to be confounded with the ordinary young person who appears daily and hourly offering unsaleable wares. Florence's wares were saleable – more than saleable. She was ushered into a room to wait for a moment, and then very soon Franks appeared on the scene.

"How do you do, Miss Aylmer?" he said, coming up in his quick way, and shaking hands with her. "I am very pleased to see you. Will you come with me now, as I should like to introduce you to Mr. Anderson?"

They left the waiting-room together, went up some broad stairs, and entered a very spacious apartment on the first floor. Here an elderly man, of tall presence, with grey hair and a hooked nose, was waiting to receive them. He stood up when Florence appeared, bowed to her, and then held out his hand.

"Will you seat yourself, Miss Aylmer?" he said.

Florence did so. Mr. Anderson stood on the hearth and looked her all over. He had a keen, hawk-like glance, and his scrutiny was very penetrating. Florence found herself colouring under his gaze. She had been full of sangfroid and almost indifference when she entered the office, but now once again that terrible, overpowering sense of guilt was visiting her.

Mr. Anderson was a Scotchman to the backbone, and a man of very few words.

"I read your story," he said; "it is sharp and to the point. You have a nice style and an original way of putting things. I accepted your story for the Argonaut; it may not appear for some months, but it will certainly be published before the end of the year. We had better now arrange terms. What do you think your manuscript worth?"

"Nothing at all," was Florence's unguarded answer.

This was so unexpected that both Franks and the editor smiled.

"You are a very young writer indeed," said Mr. Anderson. "You will soon learn to appraise your wares at their true value. As this is your first effort I will pay you two guineas a thousand words. There are, I think, from five to six thousand words in the manuscript. You will receive a cheque therefore, say, for twelve guineas on the day of publication."

Florence gave a short gasp.

"It really is not worth it," she said again.

Franks felt inclined to say: "Don't make such a fool of yourself," but he restrained himself.

Mr. Anderson now drew his own chair forward and looked at Florence.

"I should be glad," he said, "to receive further contributions. You have doubtless many ideas, and you have at present the great and inestimable charm of novelty. You write in a fresh way. We are always looking for work of the sort you have given us. I should be sorry if you took your stories to anyone else. Would it be possible to make an arrangement for us to receive all your contributions, say, for twelve months?"

"I assure you," here interrupted Franks, "that this is so unusual an offer that you would be very silly indeed, Miss Aylmer, to reject it."

Florence gazed from one to the other in growing alarm.

"What I mean is this," said Anderson, noticing her perturbation and pitying her supposed innocence. "When your story appears it will attract the attention of the critics. It will receive, beyond doubt, some very favourable comments, and other editors, who equally with myself are looking out for what is fresh and novel, will write to you and ask you to work for them. I do not wish in any way to injure your future prospects; but I think you would do better for yourself, and eventually increase the value of your contributions, by giving us your work during the first year. When can we find room for this first story of Miss Aylmer's, Franks?"