"He has been paying Edith some attentions of late," continued the colonel, in a careless tone; "do you suppose he really cares for her?"
"I don't know," answered Florence; and her voice trembled in spite of her efforts to steady it.
"Of course you don't know," the colonel went on, still in that cold, indifferent tone; "I merely asked what you thought?"
"I never thought anything about it in my life," said Florence, in a choking voice.
"That's rather strange," returned he. "I have thought of it several times lately;—but here we are at your father's gate. Present my regards, and say I would be happy to receive a call from him whenever he is so disposed."
Florence bowed good-evening to her gallant, and hurried to her own apartment.
The night was warm. A waning moon lighted the eastern terrace, and, not feeling disposed to sleep, she stepped through a window that opened to the floor, and, leaning against a pillar, stood silently gazing over the gardens and grounds below.
She had not been standing long thus when she beheld the figure of a man moving slowly along the gravelled walks, pausing frequently and fixing an earnest gaze on the windows of the apartment occupied by her mother. She grew alarmed, and was about descending the stairs to arouse her father, when she heard the hall door open softly, and saw the figure of a woman stealing down the garden path. She recognized the dark form instantly as that of Hannah Doliver. The man met her and the two went into a green-house. After an hour the woman reappeared, and retraced her steps to the mansion, but the man she saw no more. Securing her windows, Florence retired, resolving to impart to her father a history of what she had seen.
When, she did so, he only laughed at her and said he supposed it was some enamored knight come to pay his devoirs to the fair lady of his love, and counselled her to say no more of the matter, as it would needlessly irritate Hannah to know her secret was discovered.
CHAPTER XVIII.