she did not want
Florence to think that she had gone through any great time of sorrow.
She looked at Florence attentively. "Mary Bateman and I agreed that I
could come and tell you, Flo, how pleased--yes, how pleased we are that
you have got the Scholarship, for you won it so nobly, Florence--no one
could grudge it to you for a minute."

"Do you really mean that?" said Florence, eagerly. She went up to
Kitty and seized both her hands.

"Why, how hot your hands feel, and, oh, please do not squeeze me quite
so tightly," said Kitty, starting back a step.

Florence snatched away her hand. "If you knew me," said Florence; "if
you knew me!"

"I do know you," said Kitty. "Oh, Flo--Tommy, dear--let me call you by
the old name just for once--we are all so proud of you, we are really.
I thought perhaps you would be a little uncomfortable thinking of me
and of Mary, but we don't mind--we don't really. You see, we hadn't a
chance, not a chance against genius like yours. We never guessed that
you had such great genius, and it took us slightly by surprise; but of
course we are glad, awfully glad, and perhaps Sir John will offer the
Scholarship another year, and perhaps I will try then and--and succeed.
But no one else had a chance with you, Florence, and we are glad for
you, very glad."

"But you--what will you do? I know this means a great deal to you."

"I shall go away with Helen Dartmoor; I don't feel unhappy, not at all.
I am sure Sir John will be my friend, and perhaps I may try for the
Scholarship even though I am staying with Helen Dartmoor; I just came
to tell you. Good-night, Florence, good-night. Mary and I love you;
we'll always love you; we'll always be proud of you. Good-night,
Florence."

Kitty ran up to her companion, kissed her hastily, and ran to the door.
She had reached it, had opened the door and gone out, when Florence
called her. Florence spoke her name faintly.

"Kitty, Kitty, come back."

But Kitty did not hear. She shut the door and ran down the passage,
her steps sounding fainter, until Florence could hear them no longer.
Then Florence Aylmer fell on her knees, and the tears which all this
time had lain like a dead weight against her eyeballs, were loosened,
and she sobbed as she had never sobbed before in all her life.
Exhausted by her tears, she threw herself on her bed and, dressed as
she was, sank into heavy slumber.

It was very early in the morning when she awoke. It was not