Florence said “Yes,” but her tone was not very lively. Mrs Fortescue glanced at her.
“She is thinking of Lieutenant Reid,” was her thought. “Poor child! Well, of course, he is handsome and well-born, and she has plenty of money, only I always did think that with her great beauty she would be the one to make the best match. However, there is no interfering with nature, and if she loves him—and beyond doubt he loves her—it will be all right.” Aloud Mrs Fortescue said—
“You had better send a telegram to Mr Timmins to tell him you will go up by the train you mention. I will prepare sandwiches for you for the journey, and take you to the station and come again to meet the train by which you return. Nothing will induce me to neglect even a particle of my duty: you may be certain of that, my loves. Only I do hope, Brenda, that if you can put in a word for one who truly loves you, during your interview with Mr Timmins, you will mention me as the chaperone you would like best.”
“I will mention you with real affection,” said Brenda; and she got up as she spoke and, going up to the little woman, kissed her on her forehead. Then she said, gently: “Mr Timmins specially says not to send a telegram—that a postcard will do equally well.”
Chapter Five.
A Proposal and a Promise.
Soon after lunch on that day Florence went out alone to execute some small commissions for Mrs Fortescue. She was wearing a sealskin cap and very chic little sealskin jacket. No one could look nicer than she did in her pretty and expensive dress, and nothing could become her radiant complexion and those changeful eyes of hers better than the sealskin cap, which revealed beneath its narrow brim just a touch of that bright chestnut hair which Lieutenant Reid thought of by day and dreamed of by night. It was only last night that he dreamed he was touching that hair and even kissing it and calling it his own. Now it was a queer dream, for his locks were harsh and, of course, very short, and although he had thick hair, it was not exactly beautiful. He could only have called Florence’s chestnut locks his own in one sense. Somehow, as he lay in bed that morning and thought about the girl, he imagined himself more than ever in love with her.
“I do care for her, quite independently of her money,” he thought. “She is the happiest, happiest girl on earth, and the most beautiful. I always had a penchant for her, but now I am in love with her.”