“That she did—the eggs that were meant for you, too; for you know she never takes eggs in the winter; she considers them too dear. But she ate your eggs this morning, and said that you might do with the ham bone.”
“Thank you,” said Florence.
She carved a few slices from the bone, then looked up at the old servant with a smile.
“It is such a relief,” she said, “not to conceal things any longer. I will tell you, Bridget. I wonder if you are going to be just as horrid to me as Mrs Fortescue.”
Bridget stood stock still staring at the girl.
“The fact is,” said Florence, “Brenda and I haven’t got any money. We’re not heiresses at all. We are just very poor girls who have to earn our own living. We have nothing to live on—nothing at all. I expect if all were known, you have more money at the present moment than I have, Bridget. I shouldn’t be a scrap surprised if you had.”
Bridget stared open-mouthed.
“You poor thing!” she said, after a pause. “You ain’t a bit fit to earn your own living.”
“No; I am not,” said Florence; but here a ghost of a smile crossed her face.
Bridget after a time went out of the room. Florence did not feel at all inclined to eat the dry ham and stale bread, which were all that was left for her breakfast. She had a certain sense of the great injustice of being treated in this manner; for was not Mr Timmins paying Mrs Fortescue just as much for her support as though she and her sister were both living with the good lady?