"Come, come," he said, "this will never do. You will smile at this dark hour some day, Miss Florence. But now we have just barely time to reach the railway station. I am going to send Andrews with you as far as Langdale, as I prefer your not travelling alone." Florence could not help thinking how strange the circumstances of their lives had become. They were very poor girls. They were absolutely without a penny in the world--that is, almost without a penny; and yet they had to travel first-class, and one girl would not be allowed to go back to Langdale alone. She turned to Mr Timmins. An idea came to her. "If we are to be poor," she said, "and to earn our living, why don't you let us begin at once? It is far, far kinder than allowing us to spend our last penny and then starting us on this cold world with nothing to protect us against its rebuffs." "But you, Florence," said the old man, "have secured the love of an honest heart. You surely, at least, are not to be pitied." "That is true," she said; and the thought certainly did give her comfort. Michael--dear, handsome Michael--wished her to be as poor as a church mouse. Well, she was: there was no doubt of that. As Mr Timmins was parting from her at the railway station, he slipped ten pounds into her hand. "You must have a little ready money to spend," he said. "Be exceedingly careful of it." "Is it part of our seventy-five pounds?" she asked. He nodded. There was a strange expression on his face. "Good-bye for the present, dear child," he said. "Tell Mrs Fortescue to-night when you see her, that your sister is staying with Lady Marian Dixie, and that I will write to her myself to-morrow or next day. It is quite unnecessary that she should know anything about your circumstances. Whatever you do in the future, Langdale is scarcely likely to be your home." CHAPTER SEVEN. AN EXCHANGE OF CONFIDENCES. While the girls were in London, Mrs Fortescue had by no means passed an idle day. She had meant to visit several friends with the avowed intention of talking about her young heiresses, as she invariably alluded to Brenda and Florence. She would at least amuse herself hinting at the possibilities which lay before her; but it so happened that she had scarcely got through her ordinary household duties before she had an unexpected visitor. This was no less a person than Major Reid. Major Reid was, as a rule, considered a woman-hater. Since the death of his wife he had certainly never paid attentions to any woman. On the contrary, he had avoided the society of the fair sex, and had employed himself in his library and garden, living almost entirely alone, except when his son bore him company. For him to visit Mrs Fortescue, therefore, on this special day was a great surprise to the good lady.