ht in the streets of
London; and for this, in accordance with her mother's theory, she was to
be dragged out of bed by a constable, and that, probably, before the
next morning should have come. There was something in this so ludicrous
as regarded the truth of the story, and yet so cruel as coming from her
mother, that Florence hardly knew whether to cry or laugh as she laid
her head upon the pillow.

But in the morning, as she was thinking that the facts of her own
position had still to be explained to her mother,--that it would be
necessary that she should declare her purpose and the impossibility of
change, now that she had once pledged herself to her lover,--Mrs.
Mountjoy came into the room, and stood at her bedside, with that
appearance of ghostly displeasure which always belongs to an angry old
lady in a night-cap.

"Well, mamma?"

"Florence, there must be an understanding between us."

"I hope so. I thought there always had been. I am sure, mamma, you have
known that I have never liked Captain Scarborough so as to become his
wife, and I think you have known that I have liked Harry Annesley."

"Likings are all fiddlesticks!"

"No, mamma; or, if you object to the word, I will say love. You have
known that I have not loved my cousin, and that I have loved this other
man. That is not nonsense; that at any rate is a stern reality, if there
be anything real in the world."

"Stern! you may well call it stern."

"I mean unbending, strong, not to be overcome by outside circumstances.
If Mr. Annesley had not spoken to me as he did last night,--could never
have so spoken to me,--I should have been a miserable girl, but my love
for him would have been just as stern. I should have remained and
thought of it, and have been unhappy through my whole life. But he has
spoken, and I am exultant. That is what I mean by stern. All that is
most important, at any rate to me."

"I am here now to tell you that it is impossible."

"Very well, mamma. Then things must go on, and we must bide our time."

"It is proper that I should tell you that he has disgraced himself."

"Never! I will not admit it. You do not know the circumstances,"
exclaimed Florence.

"It is most impertinent in you to pretend that you know them better than
I do," said her mother, indignantly.

"The story was told to me by himself."

"Yes; and therefore told untruly."

"I grieve that you should think so of him, mamma; but I cannot help it.
Where you