"Oh, my dear, it would be much too far, and I know she would not like it. If she has to work for her living, she must be nearer town."
"I am afraid it would not do," said Florence, with a sigh; "but, of course, I—I should love it."
"You have not anything to do yet, have you?" asked Trevor.
"Not exactly." She coloured and looked uncomfortable.
He gave her a keen glance, and once more the thought flashed through Mrs. Trevor's mind: "The girl is hiding a secret; she has a sorrow: what is she trying to conceal? I wish I could draw her secret from her."
The meal over, Trevor and Florence once more wandered on the heath. The day, which had been so sunny and bright in the morning, was now slightly overcast, and they had not walked half a mile before rain overtook them. They had quite forgotten to provide themselves with umbrellas, and Florence's thin dress was in danger of becoming wet through.
As they walked quickly back now, they were overtaken by a man who said to Florence: "I beg your pardon, but may I offer you this umbrella?"
Before she could reply, the stranger looked at Trevor and uttered an exclamation.
"Why, Tom!" cried Trevor. He shook hands heartily with him, and introduced him to Florence: "Mr. Franks—Miss Aylmer."
"Aylmer?" said the young man; "are you called Florence Aylmer?" He looked full at the girl.