To Florence Mrs. Osgood was an angel. True, she had seen her rather pettish, and sometimes she scolded Martha, and gave way to hysterical spasms; but these were minor faults. She drew the child to her with the sweet and not-forgotten arts of her faded girlhood, and was pleased with the sincere homage that had in it so much of wonder. Florence would love her like a daughter.
"I cannot promise to leave you a fortune," she said, "but while I live you shall have every thing. I was treated very unjustly by Mr. Osgood's will; though I know he was influenced by his relatives, who grudge me every penny. They would be very glad to have some of their children live at Roselawn: I christened the place myself on account of the roses."
"How beautiful it must be!" exclaimed Florence, enchanted.
"It is a handsome place. You would have a governess, and be taught music and French and drawing, and be introduced everywhere as my daughter. If I had one, I fancy she would look something like you, for I was called very pretty in my younger days;" and Mrs. Osgood sighed.
"I can never be grateful enough," said Florence.
"I shall want you to love me a great deal,—just as if I were your own mother. And when you are grown you must make me your confidant. You will marry brilliantly, of course; but you must promise that it will not be without my consent."
"I shall never want to leave you!" declared Florence impulsively, kissing the thin hands.
"It will be such a luxury to have your affection. My life has always been so lonely. Very few people can understand my sensitive nature, but I trust you will be able to."
There was some other points not so congenial. When they came to these, Florence's heart shrank a little.
For, if she chose Mrs. Osgood, the group at home must drop out of her life completely. There could be no visiting, no corresponding.