herself, but her ideas
are--"

"You must not say anything against Edith Franks, mother," exclaimed her
son. "For my part, I think she is very plucky. I have no doubt," he
added, "that women doctors can do very good work."

"She is much too learned for me, that is all," replied Mrs. Trevor; "but
I hear she is to undergo her examinations in America. I trust the day
will never come when it will be easy for a woman to obtain her medical
degree in this country. It is horrible to think of anything so
unfeminine."

"I do not think Edith Franks is unfeminine," said Florence. "She has
been awfully kind to me. I think she is experimenting on me now."

"And that you don't like, my dear?"

"She is very good to me," repeated Florence, "but I do not like it."

Mrs. Trevor smiled, and Maurice gave Florence a puzzled, earnest
glance.

"I do wish, mother," he said suddenly, "that you could arrange to have
Miss Aylmer living with you."

"Oh, my dear, it would be much too far, and I know she would not like
it. If she has to work for her living, she must be nearer town."

"I am afraid it would not do," said Florence, with a sigh; "but, of
course, I--I should love it."

"You have not anything to do yet, have you?" asked Trevor.

"Not exactly." She coloured and looked uncomfortable.

He gave her a keen glance, and once more the thought flashed through
Mrs. Trevor's mind: "The girl is hiding a secret; she has a sorrow: what
is she trying to conceal? I wish I could draw her secret from her."

The meal over, Trevor and Florence once more wandered on the heath. The
day, which had been so sunny and bright in the morning, was now slightly
overcast, and they had not walked half a mile before rain overtook them.
They had quite forgotten to provide themselves with umbrellas, and
Florence's thin dress was in danger of becoming wet through.

As they walked quickly back now, they were overtaken by a man who said
to Florence: "I beg your pardon, but may I offer you this umbrella?"

Before she could reply, the stranger looked at Trevor and uttered an
exclamation.

"Why, Tom!" cried Trevor. He shook hands heartily with him, and
introduced him to Florence: "Mr. Franks--Miss Aylmer."

"Aylmer?" said the young man; "are you called Florence Aylmer?" He
looked full at the girl.

"Yes, and you have a sister called Edith Franks," she answered.

All the colour had left her face, her eyes were full of a sort of dumb
entreaty. Trevor gazed a