“Oh yes, you had better go!”—and Mrs. North put the backs of her hands against her flushed cheeks to cool them. “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 that had been a part of her religion. “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 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 may—I 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 halfway down the stairs before she realized it, and 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 so awful as that one.” [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER III. “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 seeing me. 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 Whitley friend, called to see Florence one afternoon.