Florence paced restlessly up and down the school-room. As she did so she suddenly perceived with a quickening of her heart's pulses that Kitty through an oversight had left the key in her desk; all the other girls had locked their desks; but Kitty, who was generally careful enough in this matter, had left the key in hers.

Nothing in all the world would be easier than for Florence to open Kitty's desk, to take out the envelope which contained her replies to the English History questions, and to glance at the momentous question which related to the Earl of Leicester. Right or wrong, Florence felt she must stoop to this mean action.

"After all, being included in the lucky three does not mean winning the Scholarship," she said to herself, "and I should so like to be one of the three. I think I will take one look; there is no one in the house at present. I saw Kitty cross the courtyard and go in the direction of the garden not half an hour ago. No one will know, and I shall have an equal chance with the others; if not, I shall fail, and to fail now would drive me mad."

Just at that moment Florence, who had approached the window in her restless pacing up and down, saw the postboy enter the courtyard. She ran out to meet him. He brought several letters, and amongst others one for Florence from her mother. She took it back with her to the schoolroom. Mrs. Aylmer's letters were never particularly cheerful, but Florence opened it now with a slight degree of eagerness.

"I have good news for you, Florence," wrote her mother; "if you succeed in being elected as one of the three who are to compete for Sir John Wallis's Scholarship, I shall certainly contrive to give you a week at Dawlish with me. Of course, if you fail it will be utterly useless, and I should not dream of wasting the money; so try your very best, my dear child, for there is more in this than meets the eye. It will make the most immense difference in your life, my dear Florence, if you gain this Scholarship, and also in the life of your affectionate mother. I may as well add here that your Aunt Susan becomes more intolerable day by day, and it is extremely probable that she will soon cease to pay your school fees at all. If that is the case, my dear, I really do not know what is to become of you, as I certainly cannot afford to meet them. Try your best for the Scholarship, dear. If you win it write to me immediately and I will send you the money to come home."

"What a chance!" thought Florence, as she finished reading the letter. She folded it up and slipped it into her pocket; the next instant she had crossed the room, had opened Kitty's desk, and taken out the envelope with its folded sheet of paper within. She unfolded the paper and glanced at its contents. One quick glance was sufficient. She put back the paper into the envelope, shut Kitty's desk, and returned to her own.

Her cheeks were redder than ever and her heart was beating wildly, but she knew what she wanted to know. Florence folded up her own sheet of paper, put it into its envelope, and laid it in her desk. She felt pretty certain now of being elected as one of the lucky three, and no one need ever know that she had peeped at Kitty's answers. After all, but for this ridiculous and sudden prohibition on the part of Sir John Wallis, Kitty would have helped her with her English History all the afternoon. Now, of course, she could not ask her, but never mind, she knew what she wanted to know.

Her heart felt a little uncomfortable, and, notwithstanding the hope that she might spend a week at Dawlish with her mother, to whom she was devotedly attached, and the further hope of taking an honorable place in the coming competition, she felt a queer sense of depression.

She was just preparing to leave the school-room when the door opened and Mademoiselle Le Brun looked in. She did not see Florence at first, then she glanced at her and spoke hurriedly.

"I thought Kitty Sharston was here; I want her," she said.

"No," said Florence; "what is it; what do you want?"

"I have to give her a shilling back out of the change."

"A shilling out of the change; what do you mean?"

"Oh, nothing, my dear; I ought not to tell you; I owe her a shilling, that's all."

"By the way, mademoiselle," said Florence, "I have not thanked you yet for getting me that lovely ribbon. How was it you managed to get it so cheaply?"

Mademoiselle looked very knowing.

"I am glad you like it," she said; "it was not particularly cheap."

She left the room, although Florence called after her to stay.

Florence walked quickly to the window. She looked out. The sun was still high in the heavens, for on this midsummer day it would take a long time before the evening arrived. Florence's heart beat harder than ever, for suddenly her eyes were opened, and she knew how she had got the cherry-colored ribbon. Kitty had given it to her, and Florence had stolen some of Kitty's knowledge and applied it to herself.

She hated herself for it, but not enough to retract what she had done. She went up to her room, threw herself on the bed, and burst out crying.

Yes, she would stick to it now, but, all the same, she hated herself. It was very unpleasant to be lowered in her own eyes, but she would go through with the matter now, whatever befell.

The chance of going to Dawlish, the chance of winning the Scholarship, meant too much to her; she must secure this good thing which had fallen in her path at any cost.

The evening drew on apace, and the whole school was in a perfect fever of excitement. The girls came up to their different dormitories to dress for the occasion.

Kitty, who was not too well provided with clothes, nevertheless did possess one very smart evening frock. It was made of lovely Indian muslin, exquisitely embroidered and beautifully made. She took it now out of her trunk, and looked at it with admiration. Her father had bought this Indian muslin for her, having sent for it straight away to India, and he had himself superintended the making of the beautiful dress.

Kitty's fingers trembled now as she slipped the soft folds over her head, and tucked in the spray of cherry-colored ribbons just above her white satin belt, and then she tied back her hair with the same shiny soft ribbon, and looked at her little pale face in the glass and wondered how soon she would see her father again.

"Oh, father! father!" she thought, "I am going to try my hardest, my very, very hardest, and all for your sake, and I'll be brave for your sake, and three years won't be very long passing if I spend every moment of the time in working my very hardest, and doing my very best for you."

When she had finished her dressing she turned to help the other girls. Mabel and Alice Cunningham were in soft pink dresses, a little paler in shade than the cherry-colored ribbons which as a matter of course they would wear, and one and all of the girls of the Upper school were becomingly and suitably dressed, with the exception of poor Florence; but Florence's muslin dress was coarse in texture and badly made, and notwithstanding the soft cherry-colored ribbons, she did not look her best. Also her head ached, and she was in low spirits.

Kitty was particularly affectionate to Florence, and she asked her now in an anxious tone how she had managed with regard to her English History.

"I am so dreadfully sorry," she said; "I meant to give you such a coaching in the reign of Queen Elizabeth all this afternoon, Florry, but there, it can't be helped. How did you manage, dear? Do you think you have answered all the questions?"

"Of course I have," answered Florence, in an almost cross voice, for she could scarcely bear Kitty's affectionate manners just then. "You take me for a great dunce, Kitty, but I am not quite so bad as you imagine."

"Oh, I know you are anything but a dunce," replied Kitty; "I don't take you for one, I assure you, Florence, only I did hope that I might help you in English History, for that is my strong point."

"You are quite conceited about it, I do believe," said Florence. "There, don't pull my dress about any more. Thank you, I like my cherry bow here better than in my belt. Don't touch me, please."

Florence hated herself beyond words for being so cross, but the fact was her heart ached so badly she could scarcely be civil to Kitty.

She ran downstairs, and for the rest of the evening kept out of Kitty Sharston's way.

Yes; it was a glorious evening, and everything passed off without a hitch of any sort. The guests consisted of all the best people in the neighborhood. They sat round and applauded all the girls, who danced the minuet with becoming grace and looked very pretty as they glided about on the lamp-lit lawn.

And then one or two of them recited, and one or two of them sang songs, and then there was a great chorus in which all the girls joined, and then they danced Sir Roger de Coverley to the merry strains of a string band, and presently the great occasion of all came when the girls, followed by the guests, entered the great central hall of Cherry Court, and the prizes were given away.

Florence obtained two prizes, a beautiful edition of Scott's poems, and also a little portfolio full of some pretty water-color drawings, for Florence had a great taste for art, and had managed to come out at the head of the school with her own water-color sketches.

The other girls also obtained prizes, all but Kitty Sharston, who was not long enough in the school to be entitled to one.

Kitty found herself now close to Sir John Wallis, who motioned to her to come up to his side, and pointed to a chair near where she could sit.

"I heard from your father this morning," he said, "and I mean to send him a cable to Malta if you are elected as one of the fortunate three. He expects to touch Malta on Saturday, and the cable will be waiting for him with the good news, I make not the slightest doubt."

"Oh, will you? How splendid of you!" said Kitty; "but perhaps I shall not succeed."

"Oh, yes, I have no doubt you will. Now, pluck up your courage, answer your best; don't be a scrap afraid."

"But, Sir John, you must promise me one thing," said Kitty, looking earnestly into his face.

"What is that, my dear?" asked Sir John, smiling down into the eager little face.

"You won't favor me more than the other girls? You'll be quite, quite fair, and give the chance to those girls who are really in your opinion the best?"

"I will, Kitty, I will," said Sir John; "do you think I could do anything else as regards your father's daughter? And now, child, the time is up, and I am going into the oak parlor. You will all follow me in a moment."

Kitty never forgot the hour which was spent in the oak parlor with her companions of the Upper school. She did not know how she answered the questions put with great animation by Sir John. She only knew that her heart was beating wildly, and she was thinking all the time of that cablegram which would comfort her father when he reached Malta, and resolving as surely girl never resolved before not to disappoint him, to give him if she could, if it were any way within her power, that supreme pleasure. And so when the hour was over and the brief examination was made, and the names of the successful competitors called out, and Kitty Sharston's name appeared at the head of the list, she could only look at Sir John, and think of the cablegram, and not feel at all elated, although her companions clustered around her and shook her hand and wished her joy.

The two other successful competitors were Florence Aylmer and Mary Bateman.

Mrs. Clavering then read out certain rules which Sir John had made with regard to the Scholarship, and soon afterwards the proceedings of the evening broke up; the guests departed to their homes, carrying their baskets of cherries with them; and Kitty, Florence and Mary were surrounded by their companions, who wished them joy and cheered them three times three, and took them up to their dormitory in triumph.



CHAPTER IX.

THE LITTLE MUMMY.

It was a week afterwards when Kitty stood at the gate of Cherry Court School to wish Florence Aylmer good-bye, for Florence had obtained the darling wish of her heart, and was on her way to Dawlish to spend a week with her mother. She was to travel third-class, and the journey was a long one, and the day happened to be specially hot, but nothing could damp Florence's delight, and Kitty, as she watched her, could not help for a moment a slight pang of envy coming over her.

"Have a good time, Florry, and tell me all about it when you return," said Kitty.

And Florence promised, thinking Kitty a very good-natured, agreeable girl as she did so, and then Kitty turned slowly back to the house and Florence found herself alone. She was driving in a hired chaise to Hilchester railway-station. She had said good-bye to Kitty and to Mrs. Clavering, and her earnest wish was that the week might spread itself into two or three, and that she could banish all thought of Kitty and Mrs. Clavering and Cherry Court School from her mind.

"For, although I mean to win the Scholarship—yes, I shall win it; I have made up my mind on that point—I cannot help more or less hating Kitty Sharston, and Mrs. Clavering, and the school itself," thought the girl. "But there, I will forget every unpleasant thing now. I have not seen the little Mummy for a whole year; it will be heavenly to kiss her again. If there is anyone in the world whom I truly, truly love it is the dear little Mummy."

All during her hot journey across England to the cool and delightful watering-place of Dawlish, Florence thought more and more of her mother. She was an only child, her father having died when she was five years old, and Mrs. Aylmer had always been terribly poor, and Florence had always known what it was to stint and screw and do without those things which were as the breath of life to most girls. And Florence was naturally not at all a contented girl, and she had fought against her position, and disliked having to stint and screw, and she had hated her shabby dress and unwieldy boots and ugly hats and coarse fare.

But one portion of her lot abundantly contented her—she had no fault to find with her mother. The little Mummy was all that was perfection. For her mother she would have done almost as much in her own way as Kitty would do for her father in hers.

And now her heart beat high and her spirits rose as she approached nearer hour by hour the shabby little home where her mother lived.

It was in the cool of a hot summer's evening that the train at last drew up at Dawlish, and Mrs. Aylmer stood on the platform waiting to receive her daughter.

Mrs. Aylmer was a plain dumpling sort of little body, with a perfectly round face, and small beady black eyes. She had a high color in each of her cheeks and fluffy black hair pushed away from her high forehead. She was dressed in widow's weeds, which were somewhat rusty, and she now came forward with a beaming face to welcome Florence.

"Oh, Mummy, it is good to see you," said Florence. She had a brusque voice and a brusque manner, but nothing could keep the thrill out of her words as she addressed her mother.

"I am not going to kiss you till we get into the cottage," she said. "Here's my luggage—only one box, of course. Oh, it is good to see you, it is good!"

"Then come right off home, Florry," said Mrs. Aylmer; "I have got shrimps for tea and some brown bread and butter, and Sukey made the bread specially for you this morning; you always liked home-made bread. Come along; the porter will bring your trunk in presently. You'll see to it, Peter, won't you?" said Mrs. Aylmer.

Peter, the rough-headed outside porter, nodded in reply, and Mrs. Aylmer, leaning upon Florence, who was head and shoulders taller than her parent, walked down the little shingly beach, and a moment afterwards entered the cottage door.

"Dear Mummy," she said, "it is good to see you. Now, turn round, Mummy, and let us have a right good hearty stare. Oh, you look just as well as ever, sunburnt—so much the better. Now then, for a hug."

Florence opened her arms, and the next moment little Mrs. Aylmer was clasped to her daughter's breast.

"There, that's nice," said Florence, "that's a right hearty hug. I am so glad you are well, Mummy. I am so thankful you were able to send me the money; I hope I didn't screw you up very tight."

"Well, it did, Florence," replied Mrs. Aylmer; "I shall not be able to have any meat for a whole month after you leave, dear. That was the way I managed, just docking the butcher's bill and the greengrocer's bill. I must have butter to my bread and milk in my tea, but the greengrocer and the butcher will pay your third-class return fare to the school. There now, Flo, don't worry. Come upstairs to our room; you will share my bed, dear; I could not afford to have an extra room; you will share my bed."

Florence followed her mother upstairs without a word. The cottage was a very, very tiny one, and, tiny as it was, Mrs. Aylmer only owned one half of it. She had a little sitting room downstairs, and a wee, wee bedroom upstairs, and the use of the kitchen, and the use of Sukey's time for so many hours every day, and that was about all. But a delicious sea breeze blew into the tiny sitting-room and filled the little bed-room; and clematis and honey-suckle and climbing plants of every description clustered around the windows, and Florence thought it the dearest, sweetest, most fascinating place in the world.

"It is rather a small bed for two," she reflected, as she entered the room, stooping to get beneath the lintel of the door; "but never mind, it's Mummy's little room and Mummy's bed, and I am happy, happy as the day is long."

So she tossed off her hat and washed her face and hands, and tidied her hair, and went down to enjoy the honey and bread and fruit and shrimps and tea with cream in it which Mrs. Aylmer had provided in honor of her daughter's arrival.

"There," said Florence, "that was a hearty meal. Now let us go out on the beach, Mummy. You will have a great deal to say to me, and I shall have a great deal to say to you."

"It is exciting having you back, Flo," said Mrs. Aylmer, "and we must make the week go as far as possible."

"We will sit up very late at night," said Florence, "and we will get up very early in the morning, for we must talk, talk, talk every moment of our precious time, except just the few hours necessary for sleep. You don't want much sleep, do you, Mummy?"

"Yes, but I do, my dear; I want my seven to eight hours' sleep within the twenty-four hours, or I am just good for nothing. I get muzzy in the head unless I sleep enough. Do you ever suffer from muzziness in the head, dear?"

"That's just like one of your dear old-fashioned words," said Florence; "if I did feel it I shouldn't be allowed to express it in that way at school. By the way, mother, what do you think of me? Haven't I grown a good lot?"

"Yes, you're a fine hearty girl, but you are not exactly beautiful, Florry."

Florence's eyes fell and a discontented look crossed her face. "How can I look decent in these clothes?" she said; "but there, never mind, you can't give me better, can you?"

"I, darling! How could I? I have not fifty pounds a year when all is told, and I cannot do more with my money. It's your Aunt Susan who is to blame, Florence, and she is worse than ever. I'll tell you all about her to-morrow; we won't worry to-night, will we?"

"No; let us think of only pleasant things to-night," said Florence.

"Well, come down on the beach, Flo. I am all agog to hear your news. What is this about the Scholarship?"

"Oh, Mummy, need we talk of this either to-night?" said Florence, frowning.

"Well, yes, I should like it," said Mrs. Aylmer; "you see, you know all about it, and I don't. You told me so little in your letter. You don't write half as long letters as you used to, Flo. I wish you would, for I have nothing else to divert me. I have turned and re-turned my best dress—I turned it upside down last year, and downside up this year, and back to front and front to back, and I am trimming it now with frills which I have cut another old skirt up to make, and I really cannot do anything more with it. It won't by stylish, try as I will, and your Aunt Susan hasn't sent me a cast-off of hers for the last two years. It's very stingy of her, very stingy indeed. She sells her clothes now to a dealer in London who buys up all sorts of wardrobes. Before she found out this wardrobe-dealer I used to get her cast-offs and managed quite nicely. It's horrid of her. She is a very unamiable character. Don't you ever take after her, Florry, be sure you don't."

"I hate her quite as cordially as you do, mother; but now come along by the shore and I'll tell you about the Scholarship, if you really wish to know."

Which Florence did, with one arm clasped tightly round her mother's waist, and Mrs. Aylmer almost danced by her daughter's side as she listened, and tried to fancy herself nearly as young as Florence, and was certainly quite as eager with regard to the winning of the great Scholarship.

"You must get it," she said at last, after a pause; "it would make the most tremendous, tremendous difference."

"Well, I mean to try," said Florence.

"And if you try, dear, you will succeed. You're a very clever girl, ain't you?"

"Don't say 'ain't,' mother; it is not quite——"

"Oh, don't you go to correct me, my love. I can't help having the rather rough ways of people with small means; but you are clever, aren't you?"

"I believe I am in some things. There are some things again which I never can get into my head, try as I will. I am a queer mixture."

"You are a darling old thing," said the mother, giving her arm an affectionate squeeze.

"And you are the sweetest pet in the world," said Florence, glancing down at her parent. "Oh, it is good to be with you, Mummy, again."

"Well, darling, you'll get the prize, there's nothing to prevent it."

"There are several things to prevent it," said Florence, in a gloomy voice.

"What, my dear, darling pet—what?"

"Well, for instance, there are two other girls."

"Oh, girls," said Mrs. Aylmer, in a contemptuous voice. "I am not going to be frightened by girls. My Florence is equal to the best girl that ever breathed."

"Yes, but mother, you cannot quite understand. There's Kitty Sharston, for instance."

"Kitty Sharston," said Mrs. Aylmer; "what about her?"

"Well, she is really clever, and everyone seems to wish her to win."

"I call that shocking unfair," said Mrs. Aylmer.

"It is, mother, but we cannot get over the fact. She is a favorite with the school, and I must own she is a jolly girl. Now, what do you think she did for me?"

"What, my darling?"

"You know the Cherry Feast?"

"Of course I do—have not you described it to me so often? You would make a wonderful writer, I believe, you would make a lot of money writing stories, Florence."

"No, I wouldn't, Mummy, not really. It takes a good deal to be a good story-writer."

"Well, go on, pet, I am all agog to hear."

So Florence related also the story of the cherry ribbons.

"Wasn't it like Aunt Susan?" she said.

"Just," exclaimed the mother; "the stingiest old cat in existence."

"And wasn't it nice of Kitty, and didn't she do it well?" said Florence. "Oh, she is a splendid girl, and I ought not to hate her."

"But you do hate her?"

"I am afraid I do sometimes."

"And I'm not a bit surprised, dear, coming between you and this great chance. But, oh, Florry, you must win, it is all-important; I'll tell you why to-morrow. There is a letter from your Aunt Susan which will take some of the pleasure out of this little visit, but it makes the Scholarship absolutely essential. I'll tell you all about it to-morrow."



CHAPTER X.

AUNT SUSAN.

Florence slept soundly that night, and awoke the next morning in the highest of spirits and the best of health.

"It is wonderful, Mummy," she said, "how you and I can squeeze into this camp bed, but there, I never moved all night; it was delicious to have you so close to me. I cannot understand why I love you as I do, for you are a very plain, ordinary sort of woman."

"I never was anything else," replied Mrs. Aylmer, by no means offended by Florence's frank remarks. "Your poor father always said, 'It's your heart, not your face, that has won me, Mabel.' Your poor father had a great deal of pretty sentiment about him, but I am matter-of-fact to the backbone. There, child, jump up now and get dressed, and I'll go down and prepare the breakfast. Sukey is rather cross this morning, and I always make the coffee myself."

Mrs. Aylmer bustled out of the room, and Florence slowly rose and dressed.

"I wonder what mother would think of me," she said to herself, "if she knew how I really secured my present position as one of the lucky three; I wonder what mother would think about it. Would she be terribly shocked? I doubt if the little Mummy has the highest principles in the world; in fact, I don't doubt, for I am quite certain that the Mummy's principles are a little lax, but there, she is the Mummy, and I love her. What a queer thing love is, for Mummy is not the highest-souled woman, nor the most beautiful in the world. Still, she is the Mummy, and I love her."

So Florence finished dressing and ran downstairs, and enjoyed a hearty breakfast of brown bread and butter, honey, and delicious coffee.

"I can't do much for you in the meat line, my dear," said her parent. "I don't indulge in meat more than once a week myself, but we'll take it out in fish. Fish is cheap and plentiful in Dawlish, and we can get dear little crabs for fourpence apiece."

"Oh, lovely," said Florence; "I adore crabs."

"We will go down to the fishwife after breakfast, and get her to boil some for us in time for supper," said the mother; "and now, Florence, if you are quite disposed to listen, I may as well get over this bad business."

"You allude to Aunt Susan, of course?" said Florence.

"Yes, my dear child, to her last letter. I could not read it to you, for really the tone is that aggravating it would make milk turn, and I know the contents by heart."

"What are they, mother? You may as well tell me; I am pretty well accustomed to bad news. Is she going to make your screw still smaller?"

"No, she says nothing about that. Florence, child, I wish it had been the will of Providence to have spared my brother, for if your Uncle Tom had lived I would not be in the sordid state I am now. If one of them had to go, why wasn't it your Aunt Susan?"

"She is not my real aunt, you know," said Florence.

"That's just it, dear, but she owns the money. Now, if she had left it to Tom he would have had me to live with him. I doubt, after his experience with your Aunt Susan, if he would ever have taken a second wife, and you and I would have had plenty."

"Dear me, mother," said Florence, frowning slightly, "what is the good of going over that now? Uncle Tom has been in his grave for the last six years, hasn't he? and Aunt Susan rules the roost. It's Aunt Susan we have got to think about. What did she say in that unpleasant letter?"

"Something about stocks and shares and dividends, dear—that her dividends are not coming in as well as usual, and that in consequence her income is not so large, and she finds it a great strain keeping you, Florry, at that expensive school."

"Oh, well, that's all arranged," said Florence, in a somewhat nervous voice.

"My dear Florry, don't you bear yourself up with false hopes and false ideas, for it seems, according to your Aunt Susan's letter, that the thing is not arranged at all. In fact, she declares positively that she won't keep you at Cherry Court School longer than another term."

"What, mother?"

"She says so, my love. I am sorry to have to tell you, but it is a fact. She says that you are going on sixteen, and that at sixteen you ought to be a very good pupil teacher at another school, where your services would be given in lieu of payment. She says she knows a school in the country where you would be taken, a place called Stoneley Hall, where there are sixty girls. It is up amongst the Yorkshire moors, in the dreariest spot, I make no doubt. Well, in her letter she said that she had arranged that you are to go to Stoneley Hall at Christmas, and that the next term is your last at Cherry Court School."

"If I win the Scholarship I need not do that," said Florence.

"No, no, dear, that's just it; and she says also that when she removes you from Cherry Court School she will allow me fifteen pounds a year more than I have at present, which will make my income of sixty-five pounds instead of fifty. I mean to give you that fifteen pounds a year to buy your clothes with, Florry. You shall have that, my poor dear child, whatever happens. I think you can dress yourself quite neatly on that."

"I should judge from the sort of clothes I have now," said Florence, giving her foot a pettish kick against the obnoxious blue serge, "I should judge they did not cost five pounds a year. Yes, the fifteen pounds would be delicious; and you would give it to me, Mummy?"

"Well, of course, darling, because you would have no income of your own at Stoneley Hall for the first two years, and after that it depends altogether on what you can do. You are not half educated yet, are you Florence?"

"Of course not, mother; a girl of fifteen is not educated, as a rule."

"That's just it, but your Aunt Susan does not care a bit. She reminds me in her horrid letter, that you are not her own niece at all, and that very few women would be as kind to her husband's people as she is to you and me. She says frankly——"

"Oh, what an odious frank way she has!" interrupted Florence.

"She says frankly," pursued Mrs. Aylmer, wiping the moisture from her brow as she spoke, "that we are the greatest worry to her, both of us, and that she does not care a pin for either of us, but that she does not want to have it said that her husband's people are in the workhouse, and that is why she is doing what she is doing."

"Oh, Mummy," said Florence, "can you bear her? When you tell me those sort of things I just long to throw her gifts in her face and to say boldly, 'We won't take another halfpenny from you, we will go to the workhouse to spite you, we'll tell every one we can that we are connected with you. Yes, we'll go to the workhouse to spite you.'"

"That's all very well, Florence," replied Mrs. Aylmer, rising as she spoke and shaking the crumbs from her dress outside the window. "I doubt if it would vex your Aunt Susan very much, and it would vex us a considerable deal, my love. Your Aunt Susan's relations might not even hear of it, and we would be miserable and disgraced for ever. No, we must swallow our pride and take her money; there is no help for it. But if you get the Scholarship, Flo, she is the kind of woman who would be proud of you, she is really. If she thought you had any gift she would turn round in jiffy and begin to spend money properly on you. She asked me in her last letter what sort of girl you were growing up, and if you had a chance of being handsome, for, said she, 'if Florence is really handsome, I might take a house in London and give her a season. I enjoy taking handsome girls about, and I am a right good matchmaker.' That is what she said, the horrid old cat. But you are not handsome, Florry, not a bit."

"I know," replied Florence, "I know. Well, mother, we must make the best of things. You may be certain I won't leave a stone unturned to get the Scholarship."

"You will get it, dear, and then your education will be secured, and by and by you will get a post as governess, a good post in some fashionable family, and perhaps you would meet a nice young man who would fall in love with you. They do over and over in the story-books—the nice young man, the heir to big properties, meets the governess girl and falls in love with her, and then she gets a 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 is the disadvantage of being so poor, one has to stoop sometimes. Your father would not have done it, but you could not help yourself. Come out, child, come out."

The mother and daughter wandered along the beach. They visited the shrimp-woman and then sat under the shade of a big rock and looked at the dancing waves, and talked of Florence's chance of winning the coming Scholarship.

By tacit consent they neither of them alluded to that shabby deed which Florence had done; they were both in their hearts of hearts uncomfortable about it, but both equally resolved to carry the thing through now.

"For it is too important," thought Mrs. Aylmer.

And Florence also thought, "It is too important, it means too much; I must take every chance of securing the Scholarship."

The two ladies returned home rather late, and there, to their astonishment, they found a telegram waiting them. It was addressed to Mrs. Aylmer. She tore it open eagerly and uttered an exclamation.

"There, Florry," she said, "read that."

Florence took the thin pink sheet and read the following words:

"Staying at Torquay. Going back to London to-morrow. Will put up at the hotel at Dawlish for one night on purpose to see Florence.—SUSAN."

"There," said the mother, "there's a chance for you, Flo; I hope you have brought a decent dress. Perhaps she will do something now that she sees you; it is a wonderful chance. Dear, dear, dear! I have not seen Susan for three or four years. She was a stylish woman in her day; perhaps she'll give me one or two of her cast-offs."

"Mother," said Florence, "we must make the best of things. You must look nice and I must look nice, and we won't plead poverty. I feel proud in the presence of Aunt Susan. I am sorry she is coming; I may as well say so frankly."

"But it's a great chance, child," said the widow; "what do you think about inviting her here to tea?"

"Nonsense, mother," replied the daughter; "she ought to invite us to tea."

"I wonder if she will. I wonder which hotel she'll go to. There is a splendid one on the beach, the 'Crown and Garter.' It would be very stylish to be seen going there, and Sukey would think a great deal more of me and also my friends, the Pratts, if they knew that we had tea'd or lunched at the 'Crown and Garter.' I hope she will ask me. But then, on the other hand, to see Susan in the cottage—she would probably drive up in a carriage and pair—I really wonder which would be best. It would have a great effect on the neighbors. I have spoken to them of my grand relations, but somehow, seeing is believing. It's wonderfully exciting—her coming, isn't it, Flo?"

But Florry had walked to the window and was looking out with a shade of disgust on her brow. The Mummy was the Mummy, but she certainly needed repression. Even if you had those sort of sentiments, if you were educated at all you would keep them to yourself.

The rest of the evening was spent in considerable excitement on the part of Mrs. Aylmer. Much as she professed to dislike her sister-in-law, Susan Aylmer, the thought of seeing her caused much more commotion than she had experienced at the thought of welcoming Florence home.

Florence was a dear old thing and her own daughter, but then she depended on Susan for her bread. Early on the following morning she was seen to put on her best and much-turned dress.

She went to the shop and even committed the great extravagance of getting a new white widow's front for her bonnet, and also a pair of new black silk gloves, and then she waited restlessly until the arrival of Mrs. Aylmer.

Mrs. Aylmer arrived in state by a train which reached Dawlish about noon, and the other Mrs. Aylmer—the poor one—and her daughter Florence watched her from afar.

"There she is," said Mrs. Aylmer the less, as she might truly be called, "there she is, Flo. She's grown stouter than ever, she promises to be a very large woman in her old age; and what a pompous way she does walk! I do declare—well, that beats everything—she is walking to the hotel, not even taking a carriage. That's just like Susan. Come, Flo, we'll go toward and speak to her; there's no good in having relations and keeping one's self in the background. Follow me, my dear, and pull yourself up and look as nice as you can. Everything depends on your aunt's first impression of you. Just push your hat straight—there, that's better; now come along."

Mrs. Aylmer and Florence pushed their way through a crowd of people who had just arrived, and a moment later Mrs. Aylmer the less and Mrs. Aylmer the great were shaking hands in greeting.

"How do you do, Mabel?" said Mrs. Aylmer the great, "and is this your daughter?" A pair of light blue eyes traveled all over Florence from the crown of her head to the sole of her foot. "I'll see you both at the hotel," said Mrs. Aylmer, in a gracious tone, "after I have had lunch. I shall want a little rest immediately after, but don't keep me waiting. I shall expect you at three o'clock."

"Come home, Flo," said Mrs. Aylmer the less. "We must not disturb you, of course, Susan, and we'll be punctual to the moment. What do you think of her, Flo?" said the widow, as soon as she and her daughter were out of sight.

"I think she looks horrid, mother, just as she always did. How well I remember going to see her shortly after poor father died, and how she used to make you cry, and how cold she always was, and what miserable tea she gave us! We had better ask her to a meal unless we want to be starved, Mummy, dear."

"I can't afford it really, Flo, and she would remark upon every luxury we had at the table. She would write to me afterwards and say, 'From the style of your meal,' etc."

"Oh, don't mother; I wish she hadn't come," said Florence. "You and I could have been quite happy and cosy alone, but now she will contrive to make us truly miserable."

"She has come for a reason," said Mrs. Aylmer, solemnly, "and it behooves you, Flo, to put your best foot foremost. I have got a nice little white jacket for you to wear this afternoon, and white becomes you very much."

"A white jacket! What sort?" said Florence.

"One that your aunt sent me two years back, and which I altered by a pattern of yours. You can wear it with that serge dress, and you will look quite cool and nice. Now then, darling, let us have our own dinner, because we must be punctual; it would never do to keep Susan waiting."

Neither of the ladies did keep Aunt Susan waiting. They arrived at the hotel, which turned out to be the "Crown and Garter," just as the great clock in the hall struck three.

Mrs. Aylmer had never been inside the "Crown and Garter," and she now looked around her with intense pleasure, and when one of the waiters came forward asked him in a pompous voice for "my sister-in-law, Mrs. Aylmer."

The man withdrew, to return in a moment or two to say that Mrs. Aylmer was in her private sitting-room, number 24, and would see the ladies immediately.



CHAPTER XI.

"I ALWAYS ADMIRED FRANKNESS."

"Hold your head up, Flo, and don't be nervous," whispered the widow, as they walked down the long corridor, the waiter going in front. He paused opposite number 24, flung the door open, and announced in a loud voice, "Mrs. Aylmer and Miss Florence Aylmer," and then shut the door behind the two ladies.

The widow walked nervously up the room and then stood confronting her sister-in-law. The elder Mrs. Aylmer had just risen from a sofa on which she had been lying. Mrs. Aylmer the less was quite right in prophesying her sister-in-law would be a large woman in the future; she was a large woman now, stoutly built and very fat about the face. Her face was pasty in complexion without a scrap of color in it, and her eyes were of too light a blue to redeem the general insipidity of her appearance; but when she spoke that insipidity vanished, for her lips were very firm, and were apt to utter incisive words, and at such moments her pale blue eyes would flash with a light fire which was full of sarcasm, and might even rise to positive cruelty.

"Sit down, Mabel," she said to Mrs. Aylmer. "Now Florence, I wish to say a few words to you. You will have tea with me, of course, Mabel, you and your daughter."

"Thank you very much indeed, Susan," said Mrs. Aylmer the less. "It will be a real treat," she added sotto voce, but loud enough for her sister-in-law to hear.

"H'm! I have tea at four o'clock," said Mrs. Aylmer the great; "I will just ring the bell and give orders; then we shall have time for a nice comfortable conversation. My dear," she added, turning to her niece, "would you oblige me by ringing that bell?"

Florence rose and did so. There was an ominous silence between the three until the waiter appeared to answer the summons.

"Three cups of tea and some thin bread and butter at four o'clock," said Mrs. Aylmer the great, in an icy tone of command.

The waiter said, "Yes, ma'am," bowed, and withdrew.

Mrs. Aylmer the less thought of the hearty tea she and Florence would make at home, the shrimps and the brown bread and butter, and the honey and the strong tea with a little cream to flavor it; nevertheless, her beady black eyes were fixed on her sister-in-law now with a look which almost signified adoration.

"Don't stare so much, Mabel," said Mrs. Aylmer; "you have not lost that unpleasant habit; you always had it from the time I first knew you, and I see your daughter has inherited it. Now then, Florence, to business."

"Yes, aunt, to business," replied Florence, very brusquely.

Mrs. Aylmer stared at her niece.

"You speak in a very free-and-easy way," she said, "considering your circumstances."

Florence colored angrily.

"My circumstances," she answered; "I don't quite understand."

"Has not your mother told you about my, alas! unavoidable change of plans?"

"I have, Susan, I have," said the widow, in an eager, deprecating voice. "I told dear Florry the day after her arrival. By doing without meat and fruits and vegetables I contrived to pay her third-class fare from Cherry Court School to Dawlish, and on the night of her arrival I told her about your sensible letter."

"H'm, I am glad you think it sensible," said Mrs. Aylmer; "sensible or not, it is unavoidable. You leave Cherry Court School at the end of next term, Florence, and I am about to write to your governess, Mrs. Clavering, to give her due notice of your removal. I hope, my dear, you have profited much by the excellent education which I have given you during the last three years."

"I don't know that," replied Florence, in a sulky tone. "Where is the good," she said to herself, "of trying to please this horrid Aunt Susan, and I quite hate Mummy to fawn on her the way she is doing. I at least cannot stoop to it. No; and I will not."

"You have not profited by your time at school," replied Mrs. Aylmer the great; "what do you mean?"

"I have done my best, of course," replied Florence, "but I am quite a young girl still, only just fifteen. Girls of fifteen are not educated, are they, Aunt Susan? Were you educated when you were fifteen?"

"Oh, Flo, Flo," said the mother, in a voice of agony; "pray do forgive her, Susan."

"I wish you wouldn't interrupt, Mabel," said Mrs. Aylmer, lying back in her luxurious chair as she spoke, and folding her fat hands across her lap. "I like Florence to speak out. I hate people to fawn on me."

"Dear! dear!" said Mrs. Aylmer the less. She rolled her black eyes, then lowered them and fixed them on the carpet. It was impossible to understand Susan, she was a most extraordinary woman. If, after all, Florry was on the right track and won the day!

"Girls of fifteen are not specially well educated," proceeded Mrs. Aylmer, fixing her eyes again upon Florence's face, which was now a little red; "and I don't intend your education to be finished. I have been fortunate enough to gain you admittance into an excellent school for the daughters of the poor clergy. You are to go as a pupil teacher; you will not receive any remuneration for the first two years, but you can continue to have lessons in music, French, and German."

"And what about English?" said Florence.

"You are to impart English. I conclude that at your age you at least know your mother tongue thoroughly."

"But that's just it, I do not," said Florence. "I know French fairly well for a girl of my age, and I have a smattering of German, and am fairly fond of music. I don't care for English History nor English Literature, and I have not studied either of them; and my grammar is very weak, and my spelling—well, Aunt Susan, I can't spell properly. I am sorry, but I inherit bad spelling from my mother."

"Oh, Florence!" cried the poor little widow.

"I do, Mummy; you know perfectly well that you have never yet spelt 'arrange' right, nor 'agreeable.' You always leave out one of the 'e's' in the middle of agreeable. Oh, I have had such a fight with those two words, and I do inherit my bad spelling from you. Well, Aunt Susan, what more do you wish me to say?"

"I cannot admire your manners, Florence, and as to your appearance, it leaves very much to be desired."

Mrs. Aylmer looked very calmly all over Florence. Florence suddenly sprang to her feet, her temper was getting the better of her. She inherited her temper, not from her mother, for the little Mummy had the easiest-going temper in the world, but from her father. John Aylmer when he was alive had been known to plead his own cause with effect on more than one occasion, and now some of his spirit animated his young daughter. She rose to her feet and spoke hastily.

"I am not good-looking," she said, "and I know it; I cannot help my features, God gave them to me and I must be content with them. My nose is snub and my mouth is wide, but I have got some good points, and if I were your daughter, Aunt Susan—and I am heartily glad I'm not your daughter; I would much, much rather be Mummy's daughter, poor as she is—but if I were your daughter you would dress me in such a fashion that my good points would come out, for I have good points; a nice complexion, fine hair and plenty of it, and fairly good eyes, and my figure would not look clumsy if I wore proper stays and properly-made dresses; and my feet would not be like clodhoppers, if I had fine well-made boots and silk stockings; and my hands——"

"You need not proceed, Florence," said Mrs. Aylmer, rising abruptly. "Mabel, I pity you; I should like to wash my hands of your daughter, but I cannot forget my promise to my poor dead husband, who begged me on his deathbed not to allow either of you to starve. 'For the sake of the family, Susan,' he said, 'don't let my sister-in-law Mabel and her daughter Florence go to the workhouse.' And I promised him, and I mean as long as the breath animates this feeble frame to keep my word.

"As long as I live, Mabel, your fifty pounds a year is secured to you, and I shall allow you, after Florence leaves that expensive school, which has cost me from one hundred and twenty to a hundred and forty pounds a year, to give you an additional fifteen pounds, thus raising your income to the very creditable one of sixty-five pounds per annum. As to you, Florence, having gone to the enormous expense of your education and having placed you at Mrs. Goodwin's excellent school at Stoneley Hall as pupil teacher, I wash my hands of you."

"Very well, Aunt Susan, that's all right," replied Florence. "I never did like you and I like you less every time I see you, but I want to say something on my own account. It is quite possible that I may not go to Mrs. Goodwin's school at Stoneley Hall. There is a chance that I may be able to remain at Cherry Court School quite independent of you, Aunt Susan."

"Yes, Flo, that's right," said Mrs. Aylmer the less, rising now to her feet and giving her daughter an admiring glance. "I always knew you had spirit, my darling; you inherit it from your poor dear father. If John were alive he would be proud of you, now, Flo. Tell about the Scholarship, Florry, my pet; tell about the Scholarship, dear."

Mrs. Aylmer the great was now so speechless with astonishment that she did not open her lips. Florence turned and faced her.

"It is your fault that I am plain," she said, "you have not done what my uncle asked you to do. You have paid my fees at school, but you have not made it possible for me to grow up nice in any sense of the word. You have always thrown your gifts in my face, and you have never given me decent clothes to wear. It is very hard on a girl to be dressed as shabbily as I am, and to be twitted by her companions for what she cannot help; and although you kept me at Cherry Court School, there have been times over and over when I hated you, Aunt Susan, and but for my dear little Mummy I would have left the school and earned my bread as a dressmaker or a servant. But there is a chance that I may continue to be a lady and hold the position I was born to without any help from you. A great Scholarship has been offered to the girls of Cherry Court School. It is offered by Sir John Wallis, the owner of Cherry Court Park."

"Sir John Wallis! The owner of Cherry Court Park! Why, I know him," said Mrs. Aylmer. "I was staying in the same house with him last year—a most charming man, delightful, good-looking, most agreeable manners, and such a brave soldier! Do you mean to tell me, Florence, that you know him?"

"He is the patron of our school; I thought you were aware of that fact," said Florence.

"Your manners, my dear, are simply odious, but I listen to your words with interest. Ah! here comes the tea. Put it on that table, waiter!"

The waiter appeared, carrying the tray waiter-fashion on his hand. It contained three very small cups of weak tea, and about five tiny wafers of the thinnest bread and butter. There was a little sky-blue milk in a jug, and a few lumps of sugar in a little silver basin. Mrs. Aylmer glanced at the meal as if she were about to give her sister-in-law and her niece a royal feast. "This is most exciting," she said; "we will enjoy our tea when you, Florence, have explained yourself. So you know Sir John Wallis. When you see him again pray remember me to him."

"Oh, I don't know him personally," said Florence; "there is a girl at the school he is very fond of, but I just go in with the others. He is giving the Scholarship, however."

"Go on, my dear; you interest me immensely. With judicious dress and a little attention to manners, you might be more presentable than I thought you were at first, Florence. Take this chair near me; now go on. What has dear Sir John done?"

"He is offering a Scholarship to the girls of Cherry Court School, and the girl who wins the Scholarship is to receive a free education for three years," said Florence. "I am trying for the Scholarship, and if I win it I shall remain at Cherry Court School for three years at Sir John's expense. I shall be known as the Cherry Court Scholarship girl, and be much respected by my companions; so you, Aunt Susan, will have nothing to say to my subsequent education. I shall be very pleased to wash my hands of you. I think, Mummy, that is about all, and we had better go now. There will be a better tea for us at home, and I for one am rather hungry."

Mrs. Aylmer the great was quite silent for a moment, then she spoke in a changed voice.

"Florence," she said, "you need much correction; you are a very bombastic, disagreeable, silly, ignorant girl, but I will own it—I do admire spirit, you have a look of your father, and I was very fond of poor John; not as fond of him as I was of my own dear Tom, but still I respected him. Had he lived you would have been a different girl, but your unfortunate mother—"

"If you say a word against mother I shall leave the room this instant, and never speak to you again," said Florence.

"Really, my dear, you do go a little beyond yourself—I who have done so much for you; but that Scholarship is interesting. Florence, you had better go home; I will have a word with your mother by herself. First of all, however, are you likely to win it?"

"I vow that I'll get it," said Florence.

"Florence is really clever, dear Susan," said Mrs. Aylmer the less, now bursting in in an irrepressible voice; "I believe Sir John is much struck with her. He did an extraordinary thing, and at the Cherry Feast, which always ends the summer term at the school, had a preliminary examination, and dear Flo, with two other girls, is eligible to compete for the great Scholarship. They call themselves the lucky three—their names are Kitty Sharston, Mary Bateman, and Florry. Yes, Florence is very clever."

"She has a good-shaped forehead," said Mrs. Aylmer; "I greatly admire genius. You can go, Florence; I'll speak to your mother."

"I think you had better come too, Mummy," said Florence; "surely it is not necessary for you to remain."

But Mrs. Aylmer glanced at her sister-in-law and then at Florence, and decided to remain.

"No, no, dear child," she said, "I have a great deal to say to your Aunt Susan; she has the kindest heart in the world, and the fact is, I am looking forward to my cup of tea. What delicious tea it looks! It is so kind of you, Susan, to give it to me."

Florence stalked to the door without a word, opened it, and shut it after her. When she had done so the widow glanced at the rich Mrs. Aylmer.

"You must forgive the dear child, Susan," she said.

"Forgive her! there is nothing to forgive," said Mrs. Aylmer.

"But she was very rude to you."

"I prefer her rudeness to your fawning, Mabel, and that I will say frankly."

"Fawning! Dear Susan, you certainly have a very peculiar way, but there—"

"We need not talk about my ways; my ways are my own. I wish to say something now. If my niece Florence wins the Scholarship, after her term at Cherry Court has expired I shall send her abroad for two years, paying all expenses of her education there. On her return, if she turns out to be a highly-educated, stylish woman, I shall take her to live with me, taking a house in London and giving her every advantage. I intended to do this for Florence if she turned out good-looking; she will never be good-looking, but she may be a genius which is equally interesting. All depends on her winning the Scholarship. If she loses it she goes to Mrs. Goodwin's school at Stoneley Hall, having clearly proved to me that her abilities are not above the average. If she wins it I do what I say, and in the meantime I wish you, my dear Mabel, to get her one or two pretty dresses, a nice hat, and a few suitable clothes. Or, stay, I have not the least doubt that your taste is atrocious; give me her measurements, and I shall write to my own dressmaker in London. Florence shall return to Cherry Court School as my niece, and I will write to Sir John Wallis myself with regard to her. Now, I think that is all. Oh, you would like your tea. Take it, pray, and hand me a cup. That silly girl! but I always did admire frankness."



CHAPTER XII.

THE FAIRY BOX.

The rest of the week at Dawlish passed on the wings of speed.

Mrs. Aylmer took her departure on the following morning, and neither the little Mummy nor Florence saw her again, but at the end of the week a box arrived at the widow's cottage. It was a wooden box carefully nailed down, and labelled: "This side up with care." It was addressed to Miss Florence Aylmer, and caused intense excitement, not only in the breast of Florence herself and Mrs. Aylmer, but also in that of Sukey and the near neighbors, for Mrs. Aylmer's tongue had not been idle during the few days which had passed since her sister-in-law's visit, and the intentions of Aunt Susan with regard to Florence had been freely talked over and commented on.

Nothing was said about the Scholarship. Mrs. Aylmer thought it just as well to leave that out. Her remarks were to the following effect:

"Florence is about to be adopted by her very wealthy aunt; she is already keeping her at a good school, and is about to send her some suitable dresses. In the end she will doubtless leave her her fortune."

After this Sukey and the neighbors looked with great respect at Florence, who for her part had never felt so cross in her life as when these hints were made.

"Mummy," she said once to her parent, "if I want to keep my self-respect I ought to refuse those clothes and give up Aunt Susan."

"My dear child, what do you mean? If you wanted to keep your self-respect! My dear Florence, are you mad?"

"Alas, mother, I fear I am mad," replied the girl, "for I do intend to accept Aunt Susan's bounty. I will wear her pretty dresses, and all the other things she happens to send me, and I will take her money and do my best, my very best, to get the Scholarship; but all the same, mother, I shall do it meanly, I know I shall do it meanly. It would be better for me to give up the Scholarship and go as a poor girl to Stoneley Hall. Mother, there is such a thing as lowering yourself in your own eyes, and I feel bad, bad about this."

Florence made these remarks on the evening the box arrived. The box was in the tiny sitting-room still unopened. Mrs. Aylmer was regarding it with flushed cheeks, and now after Florence's words she suddenly burst into tears.

"You try me terribly, Flo," she said, "and I have struggled so hard for your sake. This is such a splendid chance: all your future secured and I, my darling, relieved of the misery of feeling that you are unprovided for. Oh, Flo, for my sake be sensible."

"I will do anything for you, mother," said Florence, whose own eyes had a suspicion of tears in them. "It was just a passing weakness, and I am all right now. Yes, I will get the Scholarship, and I will stoop to Aunt Susan's ways—I will cringe to her if necessary; I will do my best to propitiate Sir John Wallis, and I will act like a snob in every sense of the word. There now, Mummy, I see you are dying to have the box opened. We will open it and see what it contains."

"First of all, kiss me, Florry," said Mrs. Aylmer.

Florence rose, went up to her mother, took her in her arms, and kissed her two or three times, but there was not that passion in the embrace, that pure abandon of love which Florence's first kiss when she arrived at Dawlish had been so full of.

"Now, then," she said, in a hasty voice, "let us get the screwdriver and open the box. This is exciting; I wonder what sort of taste Aunt Susan's dressmaker has."

"Exquisite, you may be sure, dear. There, there, I am all trembling to see the things, and Sukey must have a peep, mustn't she, Flo?"

"If I acted as I ought," said Florence, "I would take this box just as it stands unopened to Cherry Court School to-morrow."

"Oh, no, my dear; you could not think of doing such a thing; it would be so unkind to me. I shall dream of you in your pretty dresses, my love."

Florence said nothing more; she took the screwdriver from her mother, and proceeded to open the box.

Inside lay fold after fold of tissue paper. This was lifted away and then the first dress appeared to view. It was a soft shimmering silk of light texture, fashionably made and very girlish and simple. Florence could not help trembling when she saw it. All her scruples vanished at the first sight of the lovely clothes, and she took them out one by one to gaze at them in amazed delight.

The silk dress was followed by a flowered barege, and this by one or two cottons, all equally well made, quite suitable for a young girl, and the sort of dress which would give to Florence's somewhat clumsy figure a new grace. Under the three lighter dresses was a very plain but smartly-made thin blue serge, altogether different from the sort of serge which Florence had worn up to the present. To this serge was pinned a label, on which the words were written: "Travelling dress, and to be worn every day at school."

Under the pretty serge were half a dozen white embroidered aprons, and below them piles and piles of underlinen, all beautifully embroidered, silk stockings, little shoes, plenty of gloves, handkerchiefs, also embroidered with Florence's name. In short, a complete and very perfect wardrobe.

"Dear, dear, is it a dream?" said Florence; "am I the same girl? What magic that Scholarship has worked!"

"You must try them on, Flo," said the widow; "we shall be up some time. You must try one and all of them on, and Sukey shall come in and see you."

"Oh, mother, is it necessary to show them all to Sukey?"

"I think so, love, for it will spread the news, and it will greatly enhance my position in the place. I quite expect the Pratts will ask me to tea once a week, and they give very good teas—excellent; I never tasted better hot cakes than Ann Pratt makes. Yes, Flo dear, Sukey must see you in your smart clothes. Come upstairs to our bedroom and let us begin the trying-on, dearest."

Florence was sufficiently impressed with her new position to agree to this. She went upstairs with her mother, and for the next two hours the ladies were very busy.

Sukey was called to view Florence in each of her frocks, and when Sukey held up her hands and said that Miss Florence looked quite the lady of quality, and when she blinked her old eyes and fussed round the young girl, Mrs. Aylmer thought that her cup of bliss was running over.

At last the trying-on was completed, the old dresses discarded and put away, and Florence came downstairs in her travelling serge, wondering if a fairy wand had been passed over her, and if she were indeed the same girl who had arrived at Dawlish a week ago.

"And here's a letter from your aunt; it arrived a quarter of an hour ago," said Mrs. Aylmer. "I have not opened it yet. I wonder what she says."

"Read it to me, mother; we may as well go in for the whole thing. Aunt Susan evidently intends to turn me out properly. Do I look much nicer in this serge, mother?"

"You look most elegant, dear, you really do. You will have a very fine figure some day, and your face now in that very pretty setting-off has a very distinguished appearance. You have an intellectual forehead, Flo; be thankful that you inherit it from your poor dear father."

"Well, read the letter now, mother," said Florence.

Mrs. Aylmer opened the envelope, and took out the thick sheet of paper which it contained.

Mrs. Aylmer the great generally wrote few words. It was only on the occasion of her last letter that she had indulged in a long correspondence. Now she said briefly:

"MY DEAR MABEL: I believe that Florence's box of clothes will arrive on Thursday evening, so that she will be able to return to Cherry Court School dressed as my niece. I wish her in future to speak of herself as my niece, as I am very well known in many circles as Mrs. Aylmer, of Aylmer Hall. If Florence plays her cards well and obtains the Scholarship she will have a good deal to say of Aylmer Hall in the future.

"I enclose herewith a five-pound note, and please ask Florence to exchange her third-class ticket for a first-class one, and telegraph to the station-master at Hilchester to have a carriage waiting for her, in order to take her back to the school as my niece ought to arrive. Tell her from me that during the next term I will allow her as pocket-money two pounds a month, so that she may show her companions she is really the niece of a wealthy woman. As to you, Mabel, I hope you will not interfere in any way with the dear child, but allow her to pursue her studies as my niece ought. If she fails to get the Scholarship all these good things will cease, but doubtless she has too much spirit and too much ability to fail."

"There," said Mrs. Aylmer, when she had finished the letter, "can you take your tea after that? Five pounds, and you are to go back first-class! That I should live to see the day! This is all Sir John Wallis's doing. There is not the least doubt that he had a wonderful effect upon Aunt Susan."

"Yes, a wonderful effect," said Florence, in a gloomy voice. She was wearing the neat and beautifully fitting serge, a white linen collar encircled her throat, and was fastened by the neatest of studs, and white linen cuffs also encircled her wrists; her figure was shown off to the best advantage. On her feet were the silk stockings and the dainty shoes which she had so coveted a week ago, and yet her heart felt heavy, heavy as lead. Her mother pushed the five-pound note towards her, but she did not touch it.

"Look here, Mummy," she said, "we will exchange the third-class fare for a first-class one, and then you shall have the balance of the five pounds. It will make up for what you denied yourself to have me here; it is only fair."

"Oh, Flo, you dear, sweet, generous child—but dare I take it?"

"Yes, Mummy, you must take it; it is the only drop of comfort in all this. I don't like it, Mummy. I have a mind even now to——"

"To what, my dear child?"

"To take off this finery and send back the money, and just be myself. I wish to respect myself, but somehow I don't now. Oh, Mummy, Mummy, I don't like it."

"Florence, dear child, you are mad. This sudden happiness, this unlooked-for delight has slightly turned your brain—you will be all right in the future. Don't think any more about it, love. We must go upstairs now to pack your things in order to get you ready for your journey to-morrow."

"All right," said Florence.

"You have not taken your tea, dearest. Is there any little thing you would fancy—I am sure Sukey would run to the butcher's—a sweetbread or anything?"

"No, no, mother—nothing, nothing. I am not hungry—that's all."

The next morning at an early hour Florence bade her mother good-bye and started back for Cherry Court School. It was very luxurious to lie back on the soft padded cushions of the first-class carriage and gaze around her, and sometimes start up and look at her own image in the glass opposite. She could not help seeing that she looked much nicer in her white sailor hat, her pretty white gloves, and well-fitting dark blue serge than she had looked when she went to Dawlish one week ago. And that trunk in the luggage-van kept returning to her memory again and again, and in her purse were ten shillings, and in her mother's purse were three pounds, for the difference between the third-class and the first-class fares had been paid, and Florence, after keeping ten shillings for immediate expenses, could still hand her mother three pounds.

"You don't know what it will be to me, Flo," the little Mummy had said. "I shall be able to buy a new dress for the winter. I didn't dare to say a word to your Aunt Susan about her cast-offs; I scarcely liked to do so. But there are your clothes too, dear; I can cut them up and make use of them. Yes, I am quite a rich woman, and it is all owing to the Scholarship."

The thought of that three pounds for her mother did comfort Florry, and her conscience was not accusing her so loudly that day, so she sat back on the cushions and reviewed the position. She was going back to Cherry Court School as a rich girl; what would her companions think of her?



CHAPTER XIII.

AN INVITATION.

The holidays had come to an end, and the girls were returning to the school. The three who were to compete for Sir John's Scholarship had special desks assigned to them, were instructed by special teachers, and were looked upon with intense respect by the rest of the school. The holidays had gone by and had been pleasant, for Mrs. Aylmer had written to Mrs. Clavering to beg of her to take her niece Florence for a week's change on the seaside, and Mrs. Clavering had insisted on Kitty accompanying them, and, as Mrs. Aylmer paid the greater part of the expenses, the girls had a good time.

Mrs. Aylmer now wrote twice a week, if not to Florence herself, at least to Mrs. Clavering; and Mrs. Clavering had to alter her views with regard to Florence, to give her every advantage possible, and to look upon her with a certain amount of respect.

"It certainly is most important that you should get that Scholarship," she said once to the young girl. "Mrs. Aylmer has explained the whole position to me, but then you won't get it, Florence, unless you earn it."

"I know that," said Florence.

"And Kitty has an equal chance with you. I think Kitty is a remarkably intelligent girl. It is just as important for her to get it as it is for you, you quite understand that?"

"Oh, I quite understand," said Florence.

"Then there is also Mary Bateman. Mary has not as brilliant an intellect as Kitty, and in some ways is not as scholarly as you are, Florence, but she is very plodding and persevering, and as a rule gets to the head of her class. Mary is neither rich nor poor, but she would be very glad of the Scholarship, and says that it would give her father and mother great happiness if she obtained it; so you see, dear, you three girls are to work for the same goal—it is almost as important to one of you as to another. I want you therefore to be perfectly fair in your dealings each with the other, and to try to keep envy and all ill-feeling out of your hearts. The one who wins this great generous offer of Sir John Wallis must not think more highly of herself than she ought, and those who lose must bear their loss with resignation, feeling that they have acquired a great deal of knowledge, even if they have not acquired anything else, and trying to rejoice in the success of the one who has succeeded. The next few months until October will be a time of strain, and I hope my dear girls will be equal to the occasion."

Florence got very red while Mrs. Clavering was speaking to her. "Sometimes——" she said, in a low voice, and then she paused and her tone faltered.

"What is it, Florence?"

"Sometimes I heartily wish that Sir John had not put this great thing in my way. Last term I was poor and had shabby clothes, and no one thought a great deal of me, but in some ways I feel less happy now than I did last term. Last term, for instance, I was very fond of Kitty Sharston and I liked Mary Bateman, but there are moments now when I almost hate both of them."

"It is brave of you to confess all this, Florence, and I think none the worse of you for doing so, and if you pray against this feeling it will not increase, dear. Now go away and prepare for your French paper. By the way, a special master is coming twice a week now to coach all three of you. This has been done by Sir John Wallis's orders. Go away now, dear, and work."

The one great subject of conversation in the school was the Cherry Court Scholarship, and the lucky three were looked upon with wonder and a little envy by their less fortunate companions, for their privileges were so great and the goal set before them so high. For instance, Mrs. Clavering had so contrived matters that the three could work at their special Scholarship studies in the oak parlor. She had given each girl a desk with a lock and key, where she could keep her different themes and exercises. They had a special master to teach them deportment in all its different branches, and once a week they spent an evening in Mrs. Clavering's drawing-room, where special guests were invited to see them.

On these occasions the young girls had to act turn about as hostess, pouring out tea, receiving the visitors, seeing them out again, and entering into what was considered in the early seventies polite conversation. The almost lost art of conversation was as far as possible revived during the time of Scholarship competition, and in order to give Kitty, Florence, and Mary greater opportunities of talking over the events of the day they were obliged to read the Times every morning for an hour.

Their companions, those of the Upper school, were invited to assemble in the drawing-room on the occasions of the weekly conversazione, as it was called, and a special subject was then introduced, which the girls were obliged to handle as deftly and as well as they could.

As to conduct marks, there was nothing said about conduct, and no one put down those marks except the head mistress herself. Florence sometimes trembled when she met her eyes. She wondered if those calm grey eyes could read through down into her secret soul, could guess that she herself was unworthy, that she had committed a deed which ought really to exclude her from all chance of winning the Scholarship. Then, as the days went on, Florence's conscience became a little hardened, and she was less and less troubled by what she had done with regard to Kitty Sharston.

Florence's change in circumstances were much commented upon by the other girls, and there is no doubt that in her neatly-fitting dress with her abundant pocket-money she did appear a more gracious and a more agreeable girl than she had done in the old days when her frock was shabby, her pinafore ugly, her pocket-money almost nil.

One of the first things she did on her arrival at the school was to present Kitty Sharston with a white work-bag embroidered with cherries in crewel-stitch, and with a cherry-colored ribbon running through it. She had spent from five to six shillings on the bag, and had denied herself a little to purchase it.

Kitty received it with rapture, and used to bring it into Mrs. Clavering's drawing-room on the company evenings, and to show it with pride to her companions as Florence's gift.

"She had never had such a pretty bag in her life," she said, and she kissed Florence many times when she presented it to her.

Florence meant it as payment for the cherry-colored ribbons, but she did not mean it as payment for what she had stolen out of Kitty's desk. She knew that nothing could ever pay for that deed; but it comforted her conscience just a little to present the bag to Kitty.

The Scholarship was to be competed for on the thirtieth of October, and the girls reassembled at Cherry Court School about the fifteenth of August.

Three weeks after the school had recommenced, some time therefore in the first week in September, Mary Bateman, who had been bending for a long time over her desk with her hands pressed to her temples and her cheeks somewhat flushed, suddenly raised her eyes and encountered the fixed stare of Kitty Sharston. Kitty had done her work and was leaning back in her chair. Kitty's sweet pale face looked a little paler than usual. She was expecting a letter from her father, and on the week when the letter was to arrive she always looked a little paler and a little more anxious than she did at other times.

"Have you finished your theme?" said Mary, abruptly.

"Yes," answered Kitty.

"You write so easily," pursued Mary, in a somewhat discontented voice; "you never seem to have to think for words. Now, I am not at all good at composition."

"I am not at all good at other things," replied Kitty, in a gentle voice; "mathematics, for instance; and as to my arithmetic, it is shameful. Father wants me to be able to keep accounts very well for him. I shall do that when I go to India, but still I have no ability for that sort of thing—none whatever."

"How much you must love your father," said Mary.

"Love him!" answered Kitty. Her color changed, a flush of red rose into her cheeks, leaving them the next moment more pallid than ever.

"You don't look very strong," pursued Mary, who had a blunt downright sort of manner; "I wonder if India will agree with you; I wonder if you will really go to India."

"Why do you say that?" answered Kitty, impatiently, "when it is the one dream, the one hope of my life. Of course I shall go to India. I shall do that in any case," she added sotto voce.

"It is so strange all about this Scholarship," continued Mary, in an uneasy voice, "that we three should long for it so earnestly, and yet each feel that two others will be more or less injured if we win it."

"Don't let us talk of it," said Kitty. "I—I must get it."

"And I must get it," pursued Mary, "and yet perhaps it means a little less to me than it does to you and Florence. Florence is the one likely to win it, I am sure."

Kitty's face turned white again and her little hand trembled.

"I must get it," she said, in a restless voice. "I don't think I am selfish—I try not to be, and I would do anything for you, Mary, and anything for Florence; but—but I can't give up the Scholarship: it means too much."

She shivered slightly.

At that moment Florence entered the room. She sat down at her desk, unlocked it, and took out her papers. She was just about to commence her study—for the Scholarship study was all extra, and had to be done in odd hours and moments—when, glancing up, she met the disturbed and questioning gaze of Kitty Sharston.

"Look here," said Kitty, "we three are alone now; let us have a good talk, just once, if never again. Why do you want to get the Scholarship, Mary? Why?"

"Why do I want to get it?" said Mary.

"Oh, I wish to work now; if you mean to discuss that point I had better leave the room," said Florence.

"No, no, do stay, Flo; I won't be more than a moment. I want to understand things, that's all," said Kitty. "Please, Mary, say why is the Scholarship of great importance to you."

"Well, for several reasons," replied Mary. "I am not like you, Florence, and I am not like you, Kitty. I have got both a father and mother. My father is a clergyman; there are nine other children besides me—I am the third. It was extremely difficult for father to send me to this expensive school, but he felt that education was the one thing necessary for me. Father is a very advanced, liberal-minded man; he is before his time, so everyone says; but mother does not think it necessary that girls should know too much. Mother thinks that a girl ought to be purely domestic; she is very particular about needlework, and she would like every girl to be able to make a shirt well, and to be able to cook and preserve, and know a little about gardening, and know a great deal about keeping a house in perfect order. But father says, and very rightly, that every girl cannot marry, and that the girls who do not marry cannot want to know a great deal about keeping a house in order, and that such girls, unless they have fortunes left to them, will have to earn their own living. Of course, there are very few openings for women, and most women have to teach, so it is decided that I shall teach by and by. If marriage comes, all right, but if it does not come I shall earn my living as a governess.

"Now, to be a really good governess father wants me to be very well educated, and he is spending the little money that he might have left to me when he died in sending me to this good school. Whether I get the Scholarship or not, I shall remain at the school for three years. I am fifteen now; I shall remain here until I am eighteen. If I do get the Scholarship father means to save the money that the three years' schooling would cost, and he means to send me when I return home at the age of eighteen to a wonderful new College for Women which has been established at a place called Girton. He will spend the money which he would have spent on my education at Cherry Court School in keeping me at Girton, where I shall attend the University lectures at Cambridge, and learn as much as a man learns. It is wonderful to think of it. Mother is rather vexed; she says that I shall be put out of my sphere and cease to be womanly, but I don't think I could ever be that. You see that it is very important for me to win the Scholarship, and I mean to try very, very, very hard."

When Mary had finished her little speech she drooped her head once again over her desk. When at last she raised her eyes she encountered the bold black ones of Florence Aylmer, and the soft, lovely, dilated eyes of Kitty Sharston.

"And I want to win the Scholarship," said Kitty, taking up the theme, "because it means staying on here and being happy and being well educated for three years. It means getting the best lessons in music, and the best lessons in singing, and the best lessons in art, and it means also getting the best instruction in modern languages, and in all those other things which an accomplished woman ought to know. Then at the end of three years if all is well and father gets promoted to the hill station, I shall go out to join him in Northern India, and I want to be as perfect as possible in order to be father's friend as well as daughter, his companion as well as child."

"And if you don't get the Scholarship, what will happen?" said Florence, in a low, growling sort of voice.

"Why, then I am going to live with a lady whom I don't love; her name is Helen Dartmoor; she is a Scotchwoman, and a cousin of my mother's. She is not the least like my dear mother, and I never loved her, and I know that the best in me will not be brought to the fore if I am with her; and I shan't learn those things which would delight dear father; I shall not know modern languages, nor be a good musical scholar, nor be able to sing nicely, and I—I shall hate that life, and my nature may be warped, and I—but, oh! I will win the Scholarship."