"Never!"
"No, never! Mr. Melstane has passed out of your life entirely," said Judith, looking steadily at Florry, who appeared to be rather scared.
"What horrid things you say, Judith, you horrid thing," she whimpered, at length. "I don't know why Sebastian went away, and I don't know why he hasn't written to me. I thought he loved me, but if he had, he would have written. But he'll come back and explain everything."
"I'm certain he won't!" answered Judith, sternly.
"Why are you certain?"
"I have my reasons," said Judith, quietly.
It might have been the twilight or the dancing shadows of the fire, but as she spoke her face seemed to grow old and haggard for the moment, even to Miss Marson's unobservant eyes. Florry with her own blue eyes wide open, a terrified expression on her face, and a tremulous under-lip, suddenly burst into tears, and rising from her footstool, flung herself on her knees at the feet of her cousin, sobbing violently.
"Come, come!" said Miss Varlins, smoothing the golden head as it lay in her lap. "I did not mean to speak severely; but really, Florry, I was very sorry that Mr. Melstane loved you."
"I—I can't help it if he did," sobbed Florry, passionately; "it's not my fault if people will love me. There's Mr. Spolger—he's always making love, and that horrid, red-haired Frenchman; every time I go out he never takes his eyes off my face."
"What! that man at Wosk's?" cried Judith, with great indignation. "Surely he has not such impertinence!"