“Why do you speak of it?” Florence retorted, after a pause. “It is among the things of the past.”
“True!” he answered mournfully. “And she whose gentle hands bestowed the gift little dreamed of the changed times those she left have seen.”
Florence winced. There was something cruel in this remark, coming as it did from one who had been the first to alter.
“Are the times changed more than the faces of those who then called themselves our friends?” she cried, with bitterness.
For a moment Mr. Aylwinne was silent; then, with gentle earnestness, he said:
“Forget those who have been so false to their best feelings, Miss Heriton, and remember only that there are some who would still claim that title if you would permit it.”
For a moment her reproachful eyes were raised to his.
“Where?”
He looked hurt.
“What have I done that you should utter this reproach to me? Why have you so persistently avoided every little kindness I have attempted to show you? Florence—Miss Heriton—for your dear mother’s sake let me redeem the promise I made when I bade her farewell. Let me be the friend, or, if need be, the protector, of her orphan child.”