"We will go round the garden," she said; "it is not time for church yet. I am not able to go this morning, but Maurice will take you presently. You have just to cross the heath and you can go to a dear little church, quite in the depths of the country. I never need change of air here in my rose-bower. But come: what roses shall I pick for you?"
"I must give Miss Aylmer her flowers, as she is practically my guest," said Trevor, coming forward at that moment. He picked a moss-rose bud and a few Scotch roses, made them into a posy, and gave them to Florence. She placed the flowers in her belt; her cheeks were already bright with colour, and her eyes were dewy with happiness. She bent down several times to sniff the fragrance of the flowers. Mrs. Trevor drew her out to talk, and soon she was chatting and laughing, and looked like a girl who had not a care in the world.
"I never saw anything so sweet," she said. "How have you managed to make all these roses bloom at once?"
"I study roses; they are my specialty. I think roses are the great joy of my life," said Mrs. Trevor. But as she spoke she glanced at her stalwart, handsome son, and Florence guessed that he was his mother's idol, and wondered how she could part with him to Mrs. Aylmer.
"The church bells are beginning to ring," he said suddenly; "would you like to go to church or would you rather just wander about the heath?"
"I think I would rather stay on the heath this morning," said Florence. She coloured as she spoke. "I do not feel very churchy," she added.
"All right: we'll have our service out of doors then; we'll be back, mother, in time for lunch."