"No less a person than Major Reid." Florence felt herself colouring violently. "He came comparatively early," continued Bridget, "and had a long talk with my missis, and afterwards stayed to lunch. I can't say there was much for lunch--only the mutton bone and some fried potatoes; but my missis got up a bottle of champagne from the wine cellar, and the Major drank three or four glasses. He was very friendly indeed with my missis, and seemed a good bit excited--indeed, they both were." Florence longed to ask more questions, but refrained, and after a time, Bridget left the room. Then the girl stood with her hands clasped together gazing straight before her into the long mirror which was fastened to the wall. She saw a very charming reflection there. The form of a girl, with the extreme grace of youth and altogether well made, stood upright before her. She saw sparkling eyes, and a wealth of hair and delicate colour on the softly rounded cheeks. She knew that she was looking at herself, and it occurred to her all of a sudden that there was no wonder at all that Michael Reid should love her just for herself and not in the very least for her gold. Was not her face her fortune? She now felt quite gay and happy. She forgot her loneliness with regard to her sister and ran downstairs humming a gay song. Dinner was announced almost immediately, and the two ladies went into the dining-room and partook of it. Florence was really hungry and enjoyed the carefully prepared meal. Mrs Fortescue watched her as she ate. At last the dinner came to an end and they both retired to the drawing-room. "Now," said Mrs Fortescue, the moment the door had closed behind the two, "I must ask you, Florence, to enlighten me. There is a great deal you ought to tell me. I have been kept in the dark too long. What arrangements has Mr Timmins arrived at with regard to your future?" "He said he would write to you. I expect you will hear from him in the morning." "But you can tell me, darling: I need not be kept on tenter-hooks until the morning." "I would much, much rather he told you himself," said Florence, moving restlessly in her choir. "But why, dearest? Did he ask you not to tell me?" "He did not exactly do that; but he said he would write. From his whole tone I know he expects me to say nothing until you hear from him." Then Florence got up. She approached Mrs Fortescue's side, and bending down, kissed the good lady on her forehead. "You have been very, very kind to Brenda and me," she said; "and we will never forget it, never."