much
higher position than her employer's daughters. That is what I would
aim for if I were you, Florry."

"Oh, dear me, mother," said Florence. She stared very hard at the
round face of her parent, and wondered down deep in her heart why she
was so very fond of Mummy. "Let us go out and have a walk," she said,
restlessly; "let us visit the little shrimp-woman; I'd like to see her
and all the old haunts again."

"But before we go," said Mrs. Aylmer, "tell me, my darling, why are you
nervous, why you fear you may not get the Scholarship."

"I told you last night, mother--can't you understand? I am your one
pet chicken, but I am not anything at all really in the eyes of the
world. I am not beautiful and I am not specially clever."

"But you got amongst the lucky three, as you call them; you must be
clever to have done that."

Florence stared very hard at her mother; her face went a little pale
and then red.

"What is the matter, Flo? Why do you stare at me like that?"

"I am going to tell you something if you will never tell back again."

"What is it, dear? Really, Flo, you make me quite uncomfortable; you
have got a very bold way of staring, love."

"I am going to tell you something," repeated Florence; "I got into the
lucky three because I was mean. I did a mean, shabby, low thing,
Mummy."

"Oh, no, no," said Mrs. Aylmer, restlessly, "no, no, darling."

"I did, mother," said Florence, and now her lips trembled. "I did
something very mean, and I did it to the girl who gave me those lovely
cherry ribbons."

"That spoilt chit--Kitty Sharston you call her?"

"Yes, that girl. I opened her desk and looked at an answer which she
put to a certain question in English History which I did not know
myself. If I had not answered that question I make no doubt I should
not have been included in the lucky three."

"Well, well," said Mrs. Aylmer. She looked restless and disturbed.
She went again to the little window and looked out. "I don't see how
you can help yourself," she said.

"But it was a mean thing, wasn't it, mother?"

"Poor people cannot help themselves," said the widow, in a restless
voice, "but I wish you hadn't told me, Florence; it was--it was the
sort of thing that your poor father would not have done; but there, you
couldn't help yourself, of course."

"Then you don't think, mother, that I ought to tell Mrs. Clavering?"
said Florence.

"Tell and give up your chance! No, no, no; that