With Mountjoy Scarborough there had never come such a moment, and never could; yet he had been very confident, so that he had lived on the assurance that such a moment would come. And the self-deportment natural to her had been such that he had shown his assurance. He never would have succeeded; but he should not the less love her sincerely. And when the time came for him to think what he should do with himself, those few days after his father's death, he turned to her as his one prospect of salvation. If his cousin Florence would be good to him all might yet be well. He had come by that time to lose his assurance. He had recognized Harry Annesley as his enemy, as has been told often enough in these pages. Harry was to him a hateful stumbling-block. And he had not been quite as sure of her fidelity to another as Harry had been sure of it to himself. Tretton might prevail. Trettons do so often prevail. And the girl's mother was all on his side. So he had gone to Cheltenham, true as the needle to the pole, to try his luck yet once again. He had gone to Cheltenham, and there he found Harry Annesley. All hopes for him were then over and he started at once for Monaco; or, as he himself told himself, for the devil.
Among the lovers of Florence some memory may attach itself to poor Hugh Anderson. He too had been absolutely true to Florence. From the hour in which he had first conceived the idea that she would make him happy as his wife, it had gone on growing upon him with all the weight of love, He did not quite understand why he should have loved her so dearly, but thus it was. Such a Mrs. Hugh Anderson, with a pair of horses on the boulevards, was to his imagination the most lovely sight which could be painted. Then Florence took the mode of disabusing him which has been told, and Hugh Anderson gave the required promise. Alas, in what an unfortunate moment had he done so! Such was his own thought. For though he was sure of his own attachment to her, he could not mount high enough to be as sure of her to somebody else. It was a "sort of thing a man oughtn't to have been asked to promise," he said to the third secretary. And having so determined, he made up his mind to follow her to England and to try his fortune once again.
Florence had just wished Harry good-bye for the day, or rather for the week. She cared for nothing now in the way of protestations of affection. "Come Harry—there now—don't be so unreasonable. Am not I just as impatient as you are? This day fortnight you will be back, and then—"
"Then there will be some peace, won't there? But mind you write every day." And so Harry was whisked away, as triumphant a man as ever left Cheltenham by the London train. On the following morning Hugh Anderson reached Cheltenham and appeared in Montpellier Place.
"My daughter is at home, certainly," said Mrs. Mountjoy. There was something in the tone which made the young man at once assure himself that he had better go back to Brussels. He had even been a favorite with Mrs. Mountjoy. In his days of love-making poor Mountjoy had been absent, declared no longer to have a chance of Tretton, and Harry had been—the very evil one himself. Mrs. Mountjoy had been assured by the Brussels Mountjoy that, with the view of getting well rid of the evil one, she had better take poor Anderson to her bosom. She had opened her bosom accordingly, but with very poor results. And now he had come to look after what result there might be. Mrs. Mountjoy felt that he had better go back to Brussels.
"Could I not see her?" asked Anderson.
"Well, yes; you could see her."
"Mrs. Mountjoy, I'll tell you everything, just as though you were my own mother. I have loved your daughter;—oh, I don't know how it is! If she'd be my wife for two years, I don't think I'd mind dying afterward."
"Oh, Mr. Anderson!"
"I wouldn't. I never heard of a case where a girl had got such a hold of a man as she has of me."