But what a task for a loving daughter! If the accusation were false, with what just indignation he would meet it! If he had indeed possessed himself of this money—— At the mere thought Florence covered her face with her hands, and sank down in her former position.
All idea of visiting Miss Denham was abandoned. The afternoon glided away, and the servant came in to lay the cloth; but Florence did not seem conscious of her presence until, with a pitying touch on her arm, the girl said:
“You’re not so well, are you, miss? Let me ask missus for a glass of wine for you; she never begrudges nothing you has.”
Without waiting for a refusal, she went for the cordial, and stood over the pale, exhausted girl until she had swallowed it. Then Florence laid her head back on the pillows, and tried by perfect stillness to baffle the heavy aching in her head and heart.
Mr. Heriton came in with his usual air of self-importance, a roll of papers in his hand, at which he glanced occasionally as he muttered some calculations.
“Fifty-two and fifty—no, fifty and a half—is—— Ah, my dear, not so well to-day? You must have a few weeks by the sea to set you up. Fifty and a half—— Why, whose is this?”
As he spoke he picked up a silk scarf which his daughter had seen around Mrs. Blunden’s neck when she came into the room.
“It belongs to Aunt Margaret, sir.”
“What! Has she been here?” he asked, with knitted brows. “I wish you would not encourage her visits! I have repeatedly told you that I would rather not have any communication with such a coarse-minded, unfeeling woman as my sister has shown herself of late years.”
Florence raised herself, and plunged desperately into the subject that troubled her.