"Let us come along this corridor; there are a great many bedrooms: we will open one on the chance of its being empty."
Bertha seized Florence's hand and began to fly down the corridor with her. She knocked at a door, there was no reply, she opened it.
"There, it is unoccupied," she said; "we will stay here for a minute or two. Come now, what is it?"
"It is this," said Florence; she turned and faced Bertha.
"Bertha Keys," she said, "my mother has told me, and I heard that of you this morning which——"
"That of me, indeed," said Bertha, turning very pale; "what can you have heard of me?"
"I have heard that which shows me your true character. My mother never received those post-office orders. I gave you three sovereigns to change into postoffice orders for my mother, and she—she never had them; she never got any of my letters, she thought me cold, heartless, unfeeling—she, my mother, the one I love best in the world. You, you held back the letters, you kept the money—dare you deny it?"
"Oh, dear, what a fuss!" said Bertha. "But you can act just as you please, Florence; you can go down and tell all about me. Of course, having done so, my career will be ruined."
"What do you mean? What did you do?—speak, speak! Oh, this is driving me mad!"
"Calm yourself, my dear, and stay quiet; I won't attempt to conceal the truth from you. I took the money; I wanted it very badly. Whether I wanted it more badly than your mother is a matter of not the smallest importance to me. I wanted it, and I took it. Let that suffice."