“It was a good thing you found it out in time,” said Lady Marian. “And besides, Florence, you are a great deal too young to marry yet. Why, my dear good child, you are not half educated. Now, my plan for you both is this: that you should go to either Newnham or Girton in the autumn and take a proper course of training there; afterwards, we might go abroad for a bit. In these days, uneducated women are unbearable, and no girl of eighteen, however clever she is, can be properly educated. You can spend your holidays with me, and go and see the Arbuthnots sometimes if you like. But that must be as you please.”
“But—but,” said Florence in amazement; “of course I’d adore to go to Girton; I have always had the greatest hankering for it. But we can’t earn our living in that way.”
Lady Marian smiled.
“You don’t need to earn your living, my dear child,” she said.
“I don’t need—Brenda and I don’t need! What do you mean, Lady Marian?”
“I mean what I say,” answered Lady Marian. “Mr Timmins told you the truth with regard to your father. He unfortunately lost a very large fortune shortly before his death, and could only leave enough by will to be spent on your education. His will was a somewhat extraordinary one. In this, he said that he wished you to be educated to enable you to take your proper position in the world, not only in the world of fashion but also in that better world of refinement and culture: in the world where good people live and valiant efforts are made to maintain the right and suppress the wrong. He wished you to be carefully prepared for this position, for he knew only too well that youth—the early days of youth—is the time for such a preparation. But when you left school (he mentioned the exact age when this was to take place), you were both to be put to the test; and not only you, but your friends. You were to be told the truth, but only a part of the truth. Your father’s money, with the exception of a small sum which I believe Mr Timmins mentioned to you, has nearly been exhausted. You were to face the world, prepared in one sense, but unprepared in another. You were to look at the world, for a short time, as poor girls, not as rich ones. Your own characters were to be submitted to this trial and, still more important, the characters of your so-called friends. Do sit down, Florence; how white your face is! Brenda, come and kneel by me, darling.” Florence dropped into a chair. Her heart was beating almost to suffocation. Brenda knelt by Lady Marian and looked at her sister with a world of pity in her own eyes.
“You were to find out your friends, my dear children,” said Lady Marian; “and you could only find them out through this test. The girl who has money is often surrounded by so-called friends, who see much in her because her gold casts a sort of false halo round her. Your father wanted you to learn a lesson, so that you could, all through your future years, discern the true from the false. As to the length of the test to which you were to be submitted, that was left altogether to Mr Timmins’ and to my discrimination; for I, my dear children, by your father’s and mother’s will, am appointed your guardian, and have now absolute power to arrange for your future.”
“Still—still,” said Brenda, speaking with hesitation, “I cannot see where the money comes in. Not that we want it,” she continued; “for we have found—oh! such a true friend in you, and Mr Timmins is good—”
“And the Arbuthnots,” said Florence suddenly; “they are just more than splendid!”
“And we don’t mind a bit earning our own living,” said Brenda.