“I thought she liked him when she was here,” Mrs. North said; “but, of course, I never dreamed 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—anything bad? Almost without knowing it she looked up and asked, “Is Mr. North quite well?” The colour flew to Mrs. North’s face again. “Oh yes, I suppose so,” she answered coldly. “Naturally I don’t inquire after his health.” “You had had a telegram last time I saw you——” “I remember”—it was said bitterly. “I wondered why he was coming back so suddenly.” “I thought perhaps he was at home still.” “At home! He may be. I don’t know where he is. I have not the least idea. It is no concern of mine.” “Then he did not return after all?” Florence said, bewildered. Mrs. North looked at her for a moment in silence. Then she got up and stood leaning against the mantelpiece, which was covered with flowers and _bric-à-brac_. “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, don’t 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,” and there came a bitter little 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 and see me again, of course?” she added, with another little burst. “I do not think I can,” Florence said gently. “I don’t want you,” Mrs. North answered quickly, while her cheeks burned 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——”