This did not perhaps make Florence feel less sore. She could not help feeling that all her own prospects might come to nothing, and so long as it was well for Jim her mother would not care or any one. To tell the truth, Mrs. Plowden was of opinion that the curate’s apparent admiration of Florence had been only a cover for his desire to secure the friendship of her son, so wonderfully had her mind changed since the evening when she had bemoaned the use that Mr. Osborne might, but would not, be to Jim, and when Florence had formed the heroic resolution of setting that duty before her lover, if he should ever become her lover. The poor girl had carried out that vow, and had achieved that purpose. She said to herself that she had nothing to regret. It was far more important that he should tide Jim over this dangerous period, that he should restore him to better aims and hopes, than that he should ‘pay attention,’ as the gossips said, to herself. Florry said to herself proudly that she wanted no ‘attentions,’ from Mr. Osborne. If he had loved her, as she once thought, that would have been a very different matter. But it was apparent enough now that this had never been the case; and what did she want with him and his attentions? He had been angry, furious with her for the suggestion she had made to him. Evidently he was one of the men who think that women should never open their mouths, should see only what they are told to see. But he was a man with a conscience, and even the suggestion of a despised girl had borne fruit. He had been able to put her out of his mind, but not to put the thing she had said out of his mind. So much the better! He had held out a rescuing hand to Jim. He was doing the work of a Christian knight towards her brother. And as for any little delusion of hers, what did it matter? It was far better so, so long as nobody suspected--as nobody should suspect, did it cost her her life!--the pang that was in poor Florry’s heart.