she had fallen a good many steps lower than
she had fallen long ago when she was an inmate of Cherry Court School;
nevertheless, there seemed no hope or chance of going back. She had to
go forward and trust to her secret never being discovered.

Early in November, or, rather, the latter end of October, her first
story was published in the _Argonaut_. It was sufficiently striking,
terse, and original to receive immediate attention from more than one
good review. She was spoken of as a young writer of great promise, and a
well-known critic took the trouble to write a short paper on her story.
This mention gave her, as Tom assured her, a complete success. She was
quoted in several society journals, and one well-known paper asked for
her photograph. All the expectations of the _Argonaut_ were more than
realised, and some people said that Florence was the coming woman, and
that her writings would be quite as popular as those of the best-known
American fiction writers. Hers was the first short story of any promise
which had appeared in the English magazines for some time. The next
from her pen was eagerly awaited, and it was decided that it was to be
published in the December number.

Bertha, having provided Florence with the story, she carefully re-wrote
it in her own hand, and it was sent to the editor. It was a better story
than the first, but more critical. There was a cruel note about it. It
was harrowing. It seemed to go right down into the heart, and to pierce
it with a note of pain. It was a wonderful story for a girl of
Florence's age to have written. The editor was charmed.

"I don't like the tone of the story," he said to Franks; "I don't think
that I should particularly care to have its author for my wife or
daughter, but its genius is undoubted. That girl will make a very big
mark. We have been looking for someone like her for a long time. We have
had no big stars in our horizon. She may do anything if she goes on as
well as she has begun."

"And yet she does not look specially clever," said Franks, in a
contemplative voice. "Her speech is nothing at all remarkable; in fact,
in conversation I think her rather dull than otherwise."

"I was taken with her face on the whole," said the editor; "it was
strong, I think, and, with all our knowledge, we can never tell what is
inside a brain. She at least has a remarkable one, Franks. We must make
much of her: I don't want her to be snapped up by other editors. We mu