ked L. _s._ _d._ until the girl was tired of the
subject.

"I shall take the flat in Fortescue Mansions to-morrow morning," he said
finally; "it will just suit us. There is a very fine reception-room,
and, what is still better, all the reception-rooms open one into the
other. We must begin to give our weekly salons as soon as ever you
return from your wedding tour, Florence."

"Surely you will wait until people call on Florence?" interrupted Edith.
"You are too quick, Tom, for anything. You must not transgress all the
ordinary rules of society."

Tom looked at his sister, shut up his firm lips, and turned away; he did
not even vouchsafe to answer.

A moment later, he left the room. It was his custom when he met Florence
to kiss her coldly on the forehead, and to repeat this ceremony when he
left her. He did not neglect this little attention on the present
occasion. As his steps, in his patent-leather boots, were heard
descending the stairs, Edith saw Florence raise her handkerchief to her
forehead and rub the spot which Tom's lips had touched.

"How heartily you dislike him!" said Edith. "I would not marry him if I
were you."

Florence made no reply. She took up her letter and prepared to leave the
room.

"Why do you go? There is a good fire here, and there is none in your
room. Sit by the fire, and make yourself comfy. I am going out for a
little."

CHAPTER XLIV.

BERTHA CHANGES HER TONE.

Edith pinned on her hat as she spoke, and a moment later left the flat.
Florence looked around her. She sank into an easy-chair, and opened the
letter. It was, as she already knew, from Bertha. She began to read it
languidly, but soon its contents caused her to start; her eyes grew
bright with a strange mixture of fear, relief, and apprehension. Bertha
had written as follows:--

"MY DEAR FLORENCE--

"You will doubtless, long ere this, have been told of the
fearful blow which the late Mrs. Aylmer of Aylmer's Court has
inflicted on us all. Kind as we have been to her, and
faithfully as we have served her--I allude especially here to
myself--we have been cut off without a farthing whereas two
monstrous establishments have been left the benefit of her
wealth. The clergyman, Mr. Edwards, is responsible for this act
of what I call sacrilege. She made him write a will for her
just after poor Mr. Wiltshire had departed. It is, I believe,
quite in proper form, and