"I came," said Kitty Sharston, "because I thought you ought to know that Mary and I"—she paused to swallow something in her throat. Kitty had suffered that night and had hidden her suffering; she did not want Florence to think that she had gone through any great time of sorrow. She looked at Florence attentively. "Mary Bateman and I agreed that I could come and tell you, Flo, how pleased—yes, how pleased we are that you have got the Scholarship, for you won it so nobly, Florence—no one could grudge it to you for a minute."
"Do you really mean that?" said Florence, eagerly. She went up to Kitty and seized both her hands.
"Why, how hot your hands feel, and, oh, please do not squeeze me quite so tightly," said Kitty, starting back a step.
Florence snatched away her hand. "If you knew me," said Florence; "if you knew me!"
"I do know you," said Kitty. "Oh, Flo—Tommy, dear—let me call you by the old name just for once—we are all so proud of you, we are really. I thought perhaps you would be a little uncomfortable thinking of me and of Mary, but we don't mind—we don't really. You see, we hadn't a chance, not a chance against genius like yours. We never guessed that you had such great genius, and it took us slightly by surprise; but of course we are glad, awfully glad, and perhaps Sir John will offer the Scholarship another year, and perhaps I will try then and—and succeed. But no one else had a chance with you, Florence, and we are glad for you, very glad."
"But you—what will you do? I know this means a great deal to you."
"I shall go away with Helen Dartmoor; I don't feel unhappy, not at all. I am sure Sir John will be my friend, and perhaps I may try for the Scholarship even though I am staying with Helen Dartmoor; I just came to tell you. Good-night, Florence, good-night. Mary and I love you; we'll always love you; we'll always be proud of you. Good-night, Florence."
Kitty ran up to her companion, kissed her hastily, and ran to the door. She had reached it, had opened the door and gone out, when Florence called her. Florence spoke her name faintly.
"Kitty, Kitty, come back."
But Kitty did not hear. She shut the door and ran down the passage, her steps sounding fainter, until Florence could hear them no longer. Then Florence Aylmer fell on her knees, and the tears which all this time had lain like a dead weight against her eyeballs, were loosened, and she sobbed as she had never sobbed before in all her life. Exhausted by her tears, she threw herself on her bed and, dressed as she was, sank into heavy slumber.