never allow any gentleman to speak to him
again."

"Then there will be more need that a lady should do so. But it is not
true."

"You put your knowledge of character against that of Sir Magnus."

"Sir Magnus does not know the gentleman; I do. What's the good of
talking of it, aunt? Harry Annesley has my word, and nothing on earth
shall induce me to go back from it. Even were he what you say I would be
true to him."

"You would?"

"Certainly I would. I could not willingly begin to love a man whom I
knew to be base; but when I had loved him I would not turn because of
his baseness;--I couldn't do it. It would be a great--a terrible
misfortune; but it would have to be borne. But here--I know all the
story to which you allude."

"I know it too."

"I am quite sure that the baseness has not been on his part. In defence
of my name he has been silent. He might have spoken out, if he had known
all the truth then. I was as much his own then as I am now. One of these
days I suppose I shall be more so."

"You mean to marry him, then?"

"Most certainly I do, or I will never be married; and as he is poor now,
and I must have my own money when I am twenty-four, I suppose I shall
have to wait till then."

"Will your mother's word go for nothing with you?"

"Poor mamma! I do believe that mamma is very unhappy, because she makes
me unhappy. What may take place between me and mamma I am not bound, I
think, to tell you. We shall be away soon, and I shall be left to mamma
alone."

And mamma would be left alone to her daughter, Lady Mountjoy thought.
The visit must be prolonged so that at last Mr. Anderson might be
enabled to prevail.

The visit had been originally intended for a month, but was now
prolonged indefinitely. After that conversation between Lady Mountjoy
and her niece two or three things happened, all bearing upon our story.
Florence at once wrote her letter. If things were going badly in England
with Harry Annesley, Harry should at any rate have the comfort of
knowing what were her feelings,--if there might be comfort to him in
that. "Perhaps, after all, he won't mind what I may say," she thought to
herself; but only pretended to think it, and at once flatly contradicted
her own "perhaps." Then she told him most emphatically not to reply. It
was very important that she should write. He was to receive her letter,
and there must be an end of it. She was quite sure that he would
understand her. He would not sub