The Time of Roses Part 43

"If I will be your wife?" said Florence. "Why do you wish it?"

"I think it would be a suitable match."

"But do you love me?"

Franks paused when Florence asked him that direct question.

"I admire you very much," he said.

"That has nothing to do with it. Admiration is not enough to marry on.

Do you love me?"

"I believe I shall love you."

"May I ask you a very plain question?"

"What is that?"

"If I were not very clever, if I did not write those smart stories and those clever papers, would you, just for myself, just for my face, and my heart, and my nature, would you desire me as your wife?"

"That is scarcely a fair thing to ask, for I should never have met you had you not been just what you are."

"Well, do you love me?" said Florence again.

"You are a very strange girl. I think on the whole I do love you. I fully expect to love you very much when you are my wife."

"Did you ever love anybody else better than you love me?"

"I didn't expect, Miss Aylmer, to be subjected to this sort of cross-questioning. There was once a girl--" A new note came into Franks's voice, and for the first time those eyes of his were softened.

"She died," he said softly; "you can never be jealous of her: she is in her grave. Had she lived we should have been married long ago. Don't let us talk of her to-night. You and I can have a brilliant career. Will you say 'yes'?"

"I cannot answer you to-night. You must give me time."

"Thank you; that is all I require. I am glad you will think it over. We can be married soon, for I have a good income. I want you to clearly understand that as my wife you continue writing. I want to lead you forth as one of the most brilliant women before the world. I can train you: will you submit to my training?"

Florence s.h.i.+vered slightly.

"I will let you know to-morrow," she said.

"Come, let us go and have supper," said Franks. He jumped up abruptly, offered Florence his arm, and took her into the supper-room.

The party broke up soon afterwards. Mrs. Trevor had no opportunity of seeing Florence, or, rather, she would not give herself an opportunity.

Mrs. Simpson shook hands with the young literary _debutante_ with marked favour. Florence looked prettier than anyone had ever seen her look before. Franks took his sister and Florence home to their flat. As he parted from the latter, he ventured to give her hand a slight squeeze.

"I will call to-morrow morning," he said. "Can I see you before I go to my work?"

"Yes," said Florence; "I shall be at home at"--she paused a moment--"nine o'clock," she said somewhat eagerly.

"What! a rendezvous so early?" exclaimed Edith, with a laugh. Franks laughed also.

"Quite so, Edith," he said; "we are all busy people, and have no time to waste. This is merely a business arrangement between Miss Aylmer and myself."

"All right, Tom; I am sure I'm not going to interfere," said Edith.

"Good-night. Come in, Miss Aylmer; it is very cold standing out in the street."

The girls entered the house, and went up to their respective rooms.

Fires were burning brightly in each and the doors stood open.

"You will come into my room and have cocoa, will you not?" said Edith to Florence.

"No, thank you; not to-night."

Edith looked full at her.

"Has Tom proposed to you?" she said suddenly.

"I don't know why you should ask me that question."

"Your face answers me. You will be a fool if you accept him. He is not the man to make any woman happy. Don't tell him that I said it; but he is cold through and through. Only one woman, poor Lucy Leigh, who died before she was twenty, ever touched his heart. What heart he had is in her grave: you will never kindle it into life. Take him if you wish for success, but do not say that I never warned you."

Edith went into her room and slammed the door somewhat noisily behind her. Florence entered hers. The late post had brought a letter--one letter. She started when she saw the postmark, and a premonition of fresh trouble came over her. Then, standing by the fire, she slowly opened the envelope. The contents were as follows:--

_"Aylmer's Court, Dec. 3rd._

"MY DEAR FLORENCE--

"I would come to see you, but am kept here by Mrs. Aylmer's indisposition. She has been seriously unwell and in the doctor's hands since Maurice Trevor left her in the disgraceful fas.h.i.+on he has done. He has nearly broken her heart, but I hope to have the solace of mending it. I wish to say now that from words dropped to Mrs. Aylmer it is highly probable that he has gone to town for the purpose of proposing to you. Accept him, of course, if you wish. It is likely, very likely, that you will return his affection, for he is an attractive man, and has a warm heart, and also a good one. I have nothing whatever to do with that, but clearly understand the moment the news reaches me that you are betrothed to Maurice Trevor, on that very day I shall tell Mrs. Aylmer the whole truth with regard to the stories which are running in the _Argonaut_ and the paper which has already appeared in the _General Review_. I do not mind whether I go under or not; but you shall be seen in your true colours before ever you become the wife of Maurice Trevor.

"Yours faithfully--and faithful I shall be in that particular--BERTHA KEYS."

CHAPTER XL.

IS IT "YES" OR "NO"?

Florence sat up long with that letter lying in her lap. The fire burned low and finally went out. Still she sat by the cold hearth, and once or twice she touched the letter, and once or twice she read it.

"It burns into me; it is written in my heart in letters of fire," she said to herself finally, and then she rose slowly and stretched her arms and crossed the room and looked out at the sky. From the top of her lofty flat she could see just a little sky above the London roofs. It was a clear cold night with a touch of frost, and the stars were all brilliant. Florence gazed up at them.

"There is a lofty and pure and grand world somewhere," she said to herself; "but it is not for me. Good-bye, Maurice; I could have loved you well. With you I would have been good, very good: with you I might have climbed up: the stars would not have been quite out of reach.

Good-bye, Maurice; it is not to be."

She took Bertha's letter, put it on the cold hearth, set fire to it, and saw it consumed to ashes. Then she undressed and went to bed. Whatever her dreams were she rose in good time in the morning. She had a considerable amount to do. She was to see Franks at nine o'clock. She was to see Trevor later on.