."

"I am her niece by marriage. Her husband was my father's brother."

"I understand; but how is it she never asks you to Aylmer's Court nor
takes any notice of you?"

"I am afraid I cannot tell you."

"Cannot? Does that mean that you will not?"

"I will not, then."

Trevor flushed slightly. They had now nearly reached Westminster.

"Here is a tea-shop," he said; "will you come in and have tea with me?"

Florence hesitated.

"Thank you. I may as well," she said then slowly.

They entered a pretty shop with little round tables covered with white
cloths. That sort of shop was a novelty at that time.

Trevor and Florence secured a table to themselves. Florence was very
hungry, but she restrained her appetite, fearing that he would notice.
She longed to ask for another bun and a pat of butter.

"Oh, dear," she was saying to herself, as she drank her tea and ate her
thin bread-and-butter, "I could demolish half the things in the shop. It
is perfectly dreadful, and this tea must take the place of another meal.
I must take the benefit of his hospitality."

A few moments later Trevor had bidden her good-bye.

"My mother will be sure to write to you," he said.

She would not let him walk with her as far as her lodgings, but shook
hands with him with some pleasure in her face.

"I am so glad I met you," she repeated, and he echoed the sentiment.

As soon as he got home that day he went straight to his mother.

"You are better, are you not?" he said to her.

Mrs. Trevor was a middle-aged woman, who was more or less of an invalid.
She was devoted to her son Maurice, and, although she delighted in
feeling that he was provided for for life owing to Mrs. Aylmer's
generosity, she missed him morning, noon, and night.

"Ah, darling, it is good to see you back again," she said; "but you look
hot and tired. What a long time you have been in town!"

"I have had quite an adventure," he said. "Mother, I want to know if you
will do something for me."

"You have but to ask, Maurice."

"There is a girl"--he hesitated, and a very slight accession of colour
came into his bronzed cheeks, "there is a girl I have taken rather a
fancy to. Oh, no, I am not the least bit in love with her, so don't
imagine it, little mother; but I pity her, and like her also
exceedingly. I met her down at Dawlish. I want to know if you will be
good to her. I came across her to-day whilst walking in town, and she
was looking, oh! so fagged out