Edith went back to her room, and Florence ran downstairs, entered an omnibus which would convey her the greater part of the way to Hampstead, and arrived there a little before ten o'clock. As she was walking up the little path to the Trevors' cottage, Maurice Trevor came down to meet her.
"How do you do?" he said, shaking hands with her and taking her immediately into the house.
Mrs. Trevor was standing in the porch.
"This is Miss Aylmer, mother," said the young man.
Mrs. Trevor held out her hand, looked earnestly into Florence's face, then drew her towards her and kissed her.
"I am glad to see you, my dear," she said; "my son has told me about you. Welcome to Rose View; I hope you like the place."
Florence looked around her and gave an exclamation of surprise and delight. The house was a very small one, but it stood in a perfect bower of roses: they were climbing all over the house, and blooming in the garden: there were standard roses, yellow, white, and pink, moss-roses, the old-fashioned cabbage-rose, and Scotch roses, little white and red ones.
"I never saw anything like it," said Florence, forgetting herself in her astonishment and delight.
Mrs. Trevor watched her face.
"She is a nice girl, but she has some trouble behind," thought the widow to herself.