After a time, she got up and left the dining-room. Things were very dreary. It was so strange of Mrs Fortescue to go out. Mrs Fortescue had always fussed a good deal about the girls, and had made their arrangements for the day her first consideration. Now she did not seem to think Florence of the slightest importance, and had gone away without alluding to her. She had not come back either. Florence felt restless. She wanted to go and see Susie Arbuthnot, but thought it was too early. She left the room, however, prepared to put on her outdoor things. She would have liked it if Michael had called. Now was the opportunity for Michael to show his devotion, to assure her of the great truth of his own words; then if she were as poor as a church mouse, she would still be all the world to him. But Michael did not come. Florence ran up to her room. She put on her hat and jacket. They were just as becoming as yesterday, and her young face looked just as pretty--prettier, indeed; for sorrow had brought out fresh charms and had added to her loveliness. Her eyes, always bright and capable of varying expressions, were now filled with intense pathos. She had just run downstairs, and was crossing the hall, when she saw Mrs Fortescue come in. To her relief, she perceived that this good woman was accompanied by Susie Arbuthnot. "Oh Florence--dear!" said Susie. She went straight up to the girl, folded her arms round her and kissed her. "I have a proposal to make to you," she continued, "and if it is agreeable, we will carry it out at once. I don't think Mrs Fortescue will object, will you, Mrs Fortescue?" "Well, really!" said Mrs Fortescue; "I don't think that _my_ wishes are worth consulting. I am of no importance--no importance whatever. But all I insist upon is that until the twentieth of the month I receive the ten guineas a week which Mr Timmins owes for you and your sister. You are welcome to stay at my house, or to do what Susie Arbuthnot--who is quite extraordinary and unlike other people--proposes. But I will have my ten guineas a week, or I go to law with Mr Timmins. I will at least have that much money at my disposal." "What do you want me to do, Susie?" said Florence, with that new-born dignity which suited her so very well, and with that wonderful, new pathos in her eyes which made her look altogether lovely. "I want you to do this," said Susie; "to come straight back with me to the Grange. Neither father nor I want ten guineas, nor one penny a week, and you are to stay as long as ever you like. I want you to come now. Why, Flo, it is you I love just for yourself, not because you are an heiress. As a rule, I hate heiresses--not that I have met many." "Nor have I," said Mrs Fortescue, with a snap. "They are mostly creatures of imagination. They don't exist outside story-books. Well, Florence, say what you will do. Of course you can stay here if you wish; I want you clearly to understand that I don't turn you out."