“He did not exactly do that; but he said he would write. From his whole tone I know he expects me to say nothing until you hear from him.”
Then Florence got up. She approached Mrs Fortescue’s side, and bending down, kissed the good lady on her forehead.
“You have been very, very kind to Brenda and me,” she said; “and we will never forget it, never.”
“I trust indeed you won’t, my dear,” said Mrs Fortescue. “It is my wish to continue my kindness to you both. And now, Florence, I have something to say to you on my own account. A little bird has told me a secret with regard to you. Of course, dear—with regard to Mr Timmins, he must please himself as to whether he chooses to let me know what our future plans are to be, although I maintain that if I am kept much longer in the dark, I shall think he is not treating me fairly. But as to you and your dear sister—you, at least are different. Florence, I did not think, I could not imagine that you would have a love affair—you, such a child as you are too! and keep it dark from me.”
Florence found herself blushing very hotly.
“Who told you that I had a love affair?” she said.
“My dear Florence, there is not the least manner of use in your hiding the matter from me any longer. We at Langdale know each other so well that we are, in fact, like one big family. What affects one affects all. The sorrows of one try the hearts of all the others. The joys of one equally rejoice the hearts of all the others. In your happiness, my darling, the rest of us rejoice. It was Major Reid who told me; he came himself to-day to speak of his son’s attachment to you. He was delighted himself; he has a great, great affection and a deep admiration for you, Florence; and I—I also think Michael an excellent young man.”
“Oh—do you?” said Florence. “Do you, really?”
She had meant to go back to her seat at the opposite side of the hearth, but instead of doing this, she now dropped on her knees close to Mrs Fortescue. She had never felt so near that good lady before—so drawn to her, so part of her: in fact, the one comfort at present in her desolate position was the knowledge of Michael’s love. She must, of course, not mention her own great poverty, but she could at least listen to what Mrs Fortescue had to say about him.
“I don’t mind your knowing at all,” she said. “I felt shy about speaking to you, but as the Major has called, it makes all the difference. And he is not angry—really? You are quite, quite sure?”