"Dear lady," said Mrs. North, her face merry with sudden fun, "you have not quarrelled with her? A madonna doesn't quarrel, surely? Oh, how rude I am, but you will forgive me, won't you?" She got up from the other end of the couch and rang the bell. Bring some tea," she said to the servant, "and quickly." "Don't have tea for me, please ldFlorence began.

66

"Oh yes, yes, "Mrs. North said entreatingly, "I feel, dear Mrs. Hibbert, that we are going to talk scandal, therefore we must have tea. I have had enough scandal lately," she added, with a sigh, "but still, when it isn't about oneself it is so exhilarating, as Mrs. Baines would have said; now please go on."

"Go on with what?" Mrs. North pulled out her little lace handkerchief and twirled it into a ball in her excitement.

"About Mrs. Baines. There is some exciting news, I know it, I feel it in the air. Ah, here's the tea. I will pour it out first, and then while we drink it, you must tell me about her. Some sugar and cream, there now we look more cosy. Where is the old lady? What have you done with her? You have not locked her up?" she asked demurely.

"No," laughed Florence, thinking how good the tea was, and how pretty were the cups and the little twisted silver spoons. "I have not locked her up."

"And you have really not quarrelled with her?"

not satisfy Mrs. North. "You must have seen something of the love-making beforehand?" she urged.

"I am afraid I saw nothing of that either," Florence explained, "for I was in London, and she was at the cottage."

"I thought she liked him when she was here," Mrs. North said, "but of course I never dreamt of her being in love with him. She used to meet him and go to contemplate the Albert Memorial. Sometimes when I was out alone I drove by them, but I pretended to be blind, for I did not want to invite him here; he was so unattractive. He called once, but I did not encourage him to come again. I would give anything to see them together. If I knew where she lived I would brave everything, and call upon her, though she probably wouldn't let me in."

Then Florence began to be a little puzzled. What did Mrs. North mean? Had she done anything bad? Had she been worse than a little frivolous in the absence of her husband? Almost without knowing it she looked up and said, “Is Mr. North quite well?" The color flew to Mrs. North's cheeks.

Oh, yes, I suppose so," she answered coldly; "I have not inquired after his health lately."

"I thought perhaps he had returned by this time.'

"Returned," Mrs. North said, "he did return, of course know that you that. I have not the least idea where he is now. Naturally, it's no concern of mine." Florence looked at her bewildered, and Mrs. North looked back at her for a minute in silence. Then she got up, and stood

99

'No, no," cried Mrs. North. "Oh, it's too lovely! and who is the dear old gentleman?"

"It's a young one," Florence laughed, for she could not help being amused. "I don't know if you ever saw him- Mr. Wimple?". Mrs. North rocked to and fro with wicked delight, till the last two words came, then she grew quite grave.

'Oh, but I am sorry," she said, "for I have seen him, and he didn't look nice, he looked rather horrid."

"I am afraid he did," Florence agreed regretfully.

"Do tell me all about it;" but the only account that Florence was able to give did

66

"Mrs. Hibbert," she said, and it seemed as if her lips moved reluctantly, but she showed no other sign of emotion, you know what has happened to me, do not you? ?

“No,” answered Florence breathlessly, and she stood up too. Mrs. North glanced quickly at the door, almost as if she expected to see her visitor flee towards it.

"Mr. North divorced me," she said very slowly.

"I didn't know," Florence answered, and began to put on her glove.

"I thought you didn't," Mrs. North said, with another bitter laugh. "I knew you didn't, and yet deep down in the bottommost corner of my heart I hoped you did."

"You must forgive me for saying that

if I had I should not have come, though I am very, very sorry for you."

"As a judge is when he sends a prisoner into solitary confinement, or to be hanged, and turns away to his own comfortable life?" Florence buttoned her glove. "And you will never come to see me again, of course?"

"I don't want you," Mrs. North answered quickly, while her cheeks burnt a deeper and deeper red. "It was only a test question."

"I am very sorry for you," Florence said again, "very, very; you are so young, and you seem to have no one belonging to you. But there are some things that are impossible if

"Oh, I know,' " Mrs. North burst out, "I know. My God! and this is a Christian country. Yes, wait," she said, for she fancied Florence was going; "I know you are kind and gentle, and you are good," she added almost as an after-thought, "and you and the women like you try very hard to keep your goodness close among yourselves, and never to let one scrap of it touch women like me. Tell me," she asked, "did you marry the man you loved best in the world?"

"Yes," Florence answered unwillingly, rather afraid of being dragged into an argument.

"Then you have never known any temptation to do wrong. Where does the merit of doing right come in?" "I would rather not discuss it," Florence said gently, but coldly.

Oh, but let me speak, not for my own sake, for I shall be strong enough to make some sort of life for myself after a time; but for the sake of other women who may be in my position, and judged as you judge me. My mother died when I was sixteen; when I was eighteen I was persuaded to marry a man old enough to be my father. After a time he grew tired of me. I suppose I wasn't much of a companion to him. He went abroad, and left me alone again and again. At first my sister was with me; she married and went away. Mrs. Baines came a little while before that She stopped, as if unable to go on without some encourage

ment.

"Yes?" Florence said, listening almost against her will.

"And I was young and inexperienced. How could I know the danger in so many things that amused me? At last I fell in love; I had been so lonely, I was so tired,

"And then?" asked Florence wonder

ingly.

Then my husband came back, and there were the usual details." "And the man?"

"He has gone to India with his regi ment. He telegraphed over, 'no defence,' and that was the end of it."

"I hope he will come back and make you reparation."

"He has not written me a line yet," Mrs. North said, and the tears came into her eyes for a moment, "not a word, not a sign. Perhaps he is dead. India is a country that swallows up many histories, or perhaps," she added desperately, "he too despises me now. People flee from me as if I had the plague," she added, with the odd laugh again. "Oh, there are no people in the world who encourage wickedness as do the strictly virtuous."

"Don't say that," Florence answered, "for indeed it is not true."

"But it is," Mrs. North said eagerly. "I have proved it; once do wrong, and men and women seem to combine to prevent you from ever doing right again. You can't make a Magdalen of me," and she held out her hands. "I am young, am a girl still, you can't expect me to go into sackcloth and ashes all my life; and that in solitude. I wanted to be happy, I was hungry for happiness

I

"I hope you will get some still, but "How can I? Men shun me, unless they want to make me worse, and women fly from me as if they feared their own respectability would vanish at the mere sight of me. It seems to be made of brittle stuff."

"It is not that," Florence interrupted, "but a difference must be made, there must be some punishment, something done to prevent

"Oh yes, I know that, but some little mercy might be shown, some help-or forgiveness. So many women go on do. ing wrong, because they cannot bear the treatment of that portion of the world which has remained unspotted or unfound out. Oh, the cruelty of good women! I

sometimes think that it is only the people who have sinned, or who have suffered, who really know how to feel."

"That is not true "Florence began, but Mrs. North did not heed her. "Do you know," she went on, speaking under her breath, "I am so sorry for women now, that I believe I could kneel down beside a wicked, drunken creature in a gutter, and kiss her, and bring her back and be tender to her in the hope of making her better. For I understand not only the sin, but the pain and the misery, and the good people, and all else that have driven her there.'

“I think you must let me go away," Florence said gently, determined to end the interview.

"Oh yes, you had better go." Mrs. North put the backs of her hands against ber flushed cheeks to cool them. 66 'My tea has not poisoned you, and I have not 'contaminated you,' as Mrs. Baines would say. If you ever think of me in the midst of your own successful life, believe this, that if I had had all that you have had I might have been as good as you; who knows? As it is, I have my choice between isolation with a few breaths of occasional scorn, or the going farther along a road on which no doubt you think I am well started."

"Please let me go," Florence said gently, almost carried away by Mrs. North's beauty when she looked up at her face, but feeling that she ought to stand by the principles which had been almost a religion to her. "This has been so painful, I am sure you must want to be alone."

"Oh yes, it has been painful enough, but it has been most instructive also," Mrs. North said, and then she added gently, "I think I would rather you go now. Yes, please go," she entreated suddenly, while a sob choked her, and she dabbed her tears with her little lace handkerchief, vainly struggling to laugh again.

"I think it would be better," Florence said; "but perhaps some day if I mayI will She stopped, for she felt that she ought to consult her husband before she promised to come again.

"Oh yes, I understand," Mrs. North said, "you will come again if you can; but if you don't, it will only increase my respect for goodness. I shall think how precious it is, how valuable, it has to be guarded like the Koh-i-noor. Good-bye, Mrs. Hibbert, good-bye." She rang the bell and bowed almost haughtily, so that Florence felt herself dismissed.

"Good-bye," the latter said, and slowly turned from the room. Somehow she knew that Mrs. North watched her until the door had half closed, and then threw herself a little miserable heap among the silk cushions. But she was half-way down the stairs before she realized this, and then the servant was waiting to show her out.

"Oh, I was cold and cruel," she thought, when the street door had closed behind her, "but I could not help it; there is no sin in the world that seems so awful as that one."

CHAPTER XV.

"I CAN understand what you felt," Walter said, when he heard of Florence's interview with Mrs. North; "still, I wish we could do something for her."

"It has made me miserable; but I don't quite see what we can do. We can't invite her here who would come to meet her? As for my going to see her again, I would go willingly if I thought I should do her any good; but I don't think she would care about my going. She imagines I am good and disagreeable."

"Poor Floggie! Perhaps you might write her a little letter and then let it drop."

"I'll wait till I hear some news about Aunt Anne, then I will write, and try to make my letter rather nice." This excuse was soon given her.

Mrs. Burnett, Mr. Fisher's Witley friend, called to see Florence one afternoon.

"I thought, perhaps, you would come for a drive with me," she said; "it is lovely in the park to-day-such beautiful sunshine."

"It would be delightful," Florence answered, for she always liked Mrs. Burnett, "but I am afraid I must go to tea with a cousin in Kensington Gore; for I promised to meet Walter there, and have a walk afterwards."

"Let me take you there, at any rate? "That would be very kind," Florence said, and in five minutes they were on their way.

"Have you seen Mr. Fisher lately?" Mrs. Burnett asked, as they drove across the park.

"I saw him two or three weeks ago." "He has grown very grave and silent. I have an idea that he fell in love with a rather handsome girl who used to come and see his mother. I think she was a friend of yours, Mrs. Hibbert."

"He doesn't look like a man to fall in love," Florence said, not wishing to betray Mr. Fisher's confidence.

"Oh, but you never know what is going on inside people, their feelings are so often at variance with their appearance. My husband said once that he sometimes thought that people drew lots for their souls, for they so seldom matched with their bodies."

"Perhaps they do, and for their hearts as well. It would account for the strange capacity some people have for loving, though you have only to look at them to see it is hopeless that they should be loved back again."

"I know, and it is terrible that love should so often depend, as it does, on the chance arrangement of a little flesh and blood for that is what beauty amounts to."

the night before to the gardener, and he will meet you at the station."

"Thank you," Florence answered, "only I shall be rather afraid to use him for fear of accidents."

"Oh, but you needn't be ; and we are so glad to have him exercised. Perhaps Mrs. Baines would like to drive him? Why, we are at Kensington Gore already; it has been delightful to have you for this little drive. Good-bye, dear Mrs. Hibbert."

Walter was waiting for Florence at the cousin's. He gave her a sign not to stay too long.

"We so seldom get a walk together," he said, when they were outside, "that it seemed a pity to waste our time under a roof. Let us go inside the park," and they crossed over.

"And a few years and wrinkles will make love ridiculous or impossible," Florence said, thinking of Aunt Anne. Oddly enough, Mrs. Burnett evidently thought of her too, for she asked:

"Has your aunt been at the cottage at Witley lately?

"Do you remember how Aunt Anne used to come and contemplate the Albert Memorial?" Walter asked. By the way, Fisher was talking to-day about Wimple; he is very sore about him."

"It was very vexing; I wish we had never seen him, don't you?"

"What has become of the donkey?" "We were obliged to sell it. It would not go at all at last. We are not going to Witley ourselves till July; so meanwhile I hope you will use the pony. Only, dear Mrs. Hibbert, don't let him go too fast up hill, for it spoils his breath; and we never let him gallop down hill for fear of his precious knees."

"I will be very careful." Florence was rather amused.

"I'm afraid we don't let him go too fast even on level ground," Mrs. Burnett laughed, "for he's a dear little pony, and we should be so grieved if he came to any harm."

"Perhaps he would be safer always standing still," Florence laughed back.

"Oh, but then he might catch cold," Mrs. Burnett said; "but do remember, dear Mrs. Hibbert, when you are going to Witley, that you have only to send a card

"Walter !" exclaimed Florence, and she almost clutched his arm, "I believe she is over there. Perhaps that is why she has been running in our thoughts all day."

A little distance off on a bench, under a tree, sat a spare black figure, with what looked like a cashmere shawl pulled round the slight shoulders. Limp and sad enough the figure looked; there was an expression of loneliness in every line of it.

"It is very like her," Walter said. They went a little nearer; they were almost beside her; but they could not see her face, which was turned away from them.

"Oh, it must be she," Florence said, in a whisper. Perhaps she heard their footsteps, for the black bonnet turned slowly round, and sure enough there was the face of Aunt Anne. Thin and sad and woe-begone enough it looked.

"Aunt Anne! Dear Aunt Anne! we have been longing to see you. Why have