Grateful for his kindness, Florence gave the required promise. A new phase in her checkered life was about to commence. Who can wonder if she gladly clung to the only friendly hand held forth to guide her in it, or that her mother’s diary was again brought forth and the page that held out the long-deferred hope of Frank Dormer’s return blistered with her tears? CHAPTER X. MRS. WILSON. Mr. Lumley called on the following day, accompanied by a very small, slight lady, in the deep mourning of a widow. She was evidently of a nervous temperament, and the excitement of driving herself and the clergyman in a little pony carriage had flushed and agitated her so much that it took her a few minutes to recover breath and composure before she could go through the ceremony of introduction. Then she discovered that a small black bag, which contained her cardcase and handkerchief, was missing, and Mr. Lumley good-naturedly offered to relieve her distress by going and searching for it in the carriage. When he had gone, Florence, who, in compassion to the lady’s tremors, had kept aloof from the armchair in which she sat sniffing hard at a vinaigrette, ventured to quietly approach. “Will you let me take your bonnet for a few minutes? This room is so warm.” “Thank you--thank you!” was the answer, spoken gratefully, though in the same hurried, faltering manner. “You are very kind! But my hair--I’m afraid my hair is scarcely----” And then she made an awkward pause, but went on again in another minute: “I think I’ll loosen my shawl while I stay.” And her fluttering hands began to drag at the brooch that secured it, but with such evident obliviousness of where the fastening began and ended that Florence stooped down and took it off for her. This simple action did much toward restoring the lady’s equanimity, and when Florence proceeded to put a stool under her feet and arrange the window curtains so that the sun should not shine too fully into the flushed face of her visitor, she was thanked quite warmly. “My dear, I’m giving you a great deal of trouble. And at such a time as this, too!” And the lady’s troubled, sympathetic look rested on Florence’s black dress. “It does me good to forget myself a while,” she answered gently. “Will you have a little water, or a glass of wine?” “No, thank you. Pray sit down; I cannot bear to see you stand. You are so different to what I expected to find you that I think I shall be able to talk quite freely to you.” Florence smiled faintly at this frank confession. “What did you expect me to be like?” The lady fidgeted with the folds of her dress. “Oh, pray forgive me for making such a foolish remark; but Mr. Lumley had impressed it upon me so much that you had been--been differently circumstanced, that I could not help getting worried and uneasy lest I should hurt your feelings. I hope,” she added anxiously, “that I am not doing so now.” “Not at all, dear madam. I am sure you are here with the kindest intentions.”