"I have a sister in Russia, and she sent me a lot of these things when I
told her I meant to take up housekeeping," said Miss Franks. "Now that
we have washed up and put everything into apple-pie order, what about
that manuscript?"

"What manuscript?" said Florence, starting and colouring.

"The one you brought into the room. You don't suppose I didn't see? You
have hidden it just under that pillow on the sofa. Lie down once more on
your place of repose, and let me run my eye over it."

"Would you?" said Florence. She coloured very deeply. "Would you greatly
mind reading it aloud?"

"You have written it, I presume?" said Miss Franks.

Florence did not say anything. She shut up her mouth into rather a hard
line. Edith Franks nodded twice to herself; then, putting on her
pincenez, she proceeded to read the manuscript. She had a perfectly
well-trained voice without a great amount of expression in it. She read
on at first slowly and smoothly. At the end of the first page she paused
for a moment, and looked full up at her companion.

"How well you have been taught English!" she said.

Still Florence did not utter a word.

At the end of the second page Miss Franks again made a remark.

"Your writing is so good that I have never to pause to find out the
meaning of a word, and you have a very pure Saxon style."

"Oh, I wish you would go on, and make your comments at the end," said
Florence then, in an almost cross tone.

"My dear, that answer of yours requires medicine. I shall certainly
insist upon your taking a tonic to your room with you. I can dispense a
little already, and have some directions by me. I can make up something
which will do you a lot of good."

"Do go on reading," said Florence.

Edith Franks proceeded with the manuscript. Her even voice still flowed
on without pause or interruption. At the end of the third or fourth
page, however, she ceased to make any remarks: she turned the pages now
rapidly, and about the middle of the story her voice changed its tone.
It was no longer even nor smooth: it became broken as though something
oppressed her, then it rose triumphant and excited. She had finished:
she flung the manuscript back almost at Florence's head with a gay
laugh.

"And you pretend, you pretend," she said, "that you are a starving
girl--a girl out of a situation! You are a sham, Miss Aylmer--you are a
sham."

"What do you mean?" said Florence.

"Why, this," said Edith Franks. She took