Lady Marian bent forward and kissed Brenda on her brow.
“I know that quite well, my darling,” she said; “and I know also that Florence has learnt her lesson. You have discovered your true friends, and also discovered your false ones. What about Mrs Fortescue? What about—” here she glanced at Florence.
“I know, I know,” said Florence. “I thought Michael was—oh! so different; and I—I did care for him a little!”
Tears rose to her eyes. She pressed her handkerchief to them and sat still for a minute, trying to recover from her emotions; then she continued—
“I have not broken my heart.”
She looked up with a smile which was half piteous.
“I know that,” said Lady Marian, briskly, “and you will recover it altogether soon. Now the facto of the case are these. Your father wished his money to be spent on your education. Meanwhile, your mother’s money, which represented a very large sum—many thousands of pounds: I cannot go into full particulars, but Mr Timmins will, if necessary, enlighten you—was to lie at compound interest awaiting the moment when you were to receive it. My dear girls, a certain portion of that money is to be devoted to what may be called your higher education—that which you will receive during the next three years—and afterwards you will be rich, dears, I trust; not only rich in money, but rich in the better things, which mean courage, and endurance, and faith, and sympathy. You will understand the real poor a little better because for a short week of your lives you considered yourselves poor, and you will discern the true from the false also because of this week, which has taught you a lesson. Now go up to your rooms, dears; I think I have explained all that is necessary for the present.”
“But one thing,” said Florence, as they rose. “May I write and tell Susie Arbuthnot?”
“Certainly; I should like you to do so.”