"Kitty will feel it, but she will not have an illness," said Mrs. Clavering; "you have but to see the expression on the two faces to know that. Kitty is anxious also and resolved, but there is a firm, steady, fine sort of expression about her, quite the reverse of poor Florence's."
"Yes, I confess I do not understand that girl," said Sir John; "and yet," he added, "I cannot help liking her; she has a good deal in her."
"I pity her, poor child," said Mrs. Clavering; "she is placed in a very false position. I once met her aunt, Mrs. Aylmer, of Aylmer's Court; that was on the occasion when Florence was brought to my school, and I confess I did not take to her."
Sir John shrugged his shoulders.
"It is invidious to speak of a lady who is soon to be one's guest," he said, "but I also have met Mrs. Aylmer."
On the morning of the same day Florence had received a letter from her mother. Bertha Keys had gone away on the previous evening to visit a sick cousin, and in consequence had not the charge of the postbag. She was very unwilling to leave at this critical moment, but the cousin was ill, required her services. Mrs. Clavering was willing to spare her for one night, there was no help for it; she must go. "I must only trust that no letter will come from Dawlish," she said to herself; "but after all, even if it does, it cannot really matter. Florence must sooner or later feel that she is in my power; perhaps the sooner the better."
Florence found the letter from her mother on the breakfast-table. She stretched out her hand, caught it with a firm grip, thrust it into her pocket, and then applied herself to her breakfast.
"Why don't you read your letter? You know you are allowed to do so," said Edith King, who was seated next to her.
"Oh, it will do after breakfast," said Florence.
"You don't look well, Flo; what is the matter with you?"