“I am afraid you have been ill, Miss Heriton? We had missed you from the window. Will you accept my arm down the street?”
Florence took it as frankly as it was offered. The pale, oval face, the smoothly braided brown hair, and neat gray dress of this gentlewoman irresistibly attracted her.
“I have been ill, but I am better, thank you; and it is such a treat to breathe the air once more!”
“Cannot you prolong your stroll as far as the park? The walks are dry, and there are seats where you could rest for a few minutes if warmly clothed.”
“I should like it much; but papa does not approve of my going there alone,” Florence replied, and her new friend was too delicate to say more.
They sauntered together to the door of Mr. Heriton’s lodgings, and then the governess, moved by an impulse of pity for the young creature who seemed so lonely, said:
“My name is Denham—Susan Denham. My cousin and I rarely receive any visitors, but we are generally at home on Thursday afternoon, and if you will come and read or work with us we shall be pleased to see you.”
Florence pressed her hand warmly.
“I shall like it so much. I will be sure to come.”
It was not until she was in her own room, taking off her wraps, that she remembered Mr. Heriton’s exordiums against forming any low connections. She timidly mentioned the invitation as they sat together in the evening, adding: