"I will speak to him." Had Harry heard her say that, he ought to have been a happy man in spite of his trouble. "You! What good can you do him?" Florence nodded her head, almost imperceptibly, but still there was a nod, signifying more than she could possibly say. She thought that she could do him a world of good if she were near him, and some good, too, though she were far away. If she were with him she could hang on to his arm,--or perhaps at some future time round his neck,--and tell him that she would be true to him though all others might turn away. And she could be just as true where she was, though she could not comfort him by telling him so with her own words. Then it was that she resolved upon writing that letter. He should already have what little comfort she might administer in his absence. "Now, listen to me, Florence. He is a thorough reprobate." "I will not hear him so called. He is no reprobate." "He has behaved in such a way that all England is crying out about him. He has done that which will never allow any gentleman to speak to him again." "Then there will be more need that a lady should do so. But it is not true." "You put your knowledge of character against that of Sir Magnus." "Sir Magnus does not know the gentleman; I do. What's the good of talking of it, aunt? Harry Annesley has my word, and nothing on earth shall induce me to go back from it. Even were he what you say I would be true to him." "You would?" "Certainly I would. I could not willingly begin to love a man whom I knew to be base; but when I had loved him I would not turn because of his baseness;--I couldn't do it. It would be a great--a terrible misfortune; but it would have to be borne. But here--I know all the story to which you allude." "I know it too." "I am quite sure that the baseness has not been on his part. In defence of my name he has been silent. He might have spoken out, if he had known all the truth then. I was as much his own then as I am now. One of these days I suppose I shall be more so." "You mean to marry him, then?" "Most certainly I do, or I will never be married; and as he is poor now, and I must have my own money when I am twenty-four, I suppose I shall have to wait till then." "Will your mother's word go for nothing with you?" "Poor mamma! I do believe that mamma is very unhappy, because she makes me unhappy. What may take place between me and mamma I am not bound, I think, to tell you. We shall be away soon, and I shall be left to mamma alone." And mamma would be left alone to her daughter, Lady Mountjoy thought. The visit must be prolonged so that at last Mr. Anderson might be enabled to prevail.