Chapter Nine.
Mrs Fortescue Seeks Enlightenment.
“Now, Florence,” said Mrs Fortescue, “I suppose you have got something to tell me.”
“I have,” answered Florence. She spoke almost flippantly. “I am very, very hungry. I hope you have a nice dinner, a specially nice dinner for us both to enjoy together to-night, Mrs Fortescue.”
“I have got a duck,” said Mrs Fortescue; “and ducks at present are exceedingly expensive; but I never think of expense when I am providing luxuries for you and your dear sister. You deserve all the good things of life, my darlings, and I trust they will fall to your portion. Nevertheless, I think, I do think you might have confided in me.”
Florence coloured and then turned pale. She wondered if anyone had, in some miraculous way, become acquainted with the fact of their own great poverty; but no, the whole thing seemed impossible. Florence herself had been careful not to breathe a word on the subject, and she was pretty sure that Brenda had not done so. What, therefore, could Mrs Fortescue mean? As to the other matter—that which related to Lieutenant Reid, it is sad to have to confess that Florence, for the time being, had forgotten the gallant lieutenant.
“I am hungry!” she said; “and I would rather talk to you after dinner than before: that is, if you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind at all, dearest,” said Mrs Fortescue. “You would like to go upstairs and change your travelling dress. I will send Bridget in to help you.”