Mrs. Trevor, through the little latticed window in the tiny drawing-room, had witnessed this scene.
"What?" she said to herself. "Is my boy really falling in love with that nice, interesting, but unhappy girl? Of course, I shall not oppose him; but I almost wish it were not to be."
CHAPTER XXII.
THE STORY ACCEPTED.
Tea was ready prepared. The sun came out after the heavy shower, and Florence found the Trevors even more kind and agreeable than they had been at lunch. When the meal was over, Trevor called his mother out of the room. He spoke to her for a few moments alone, and then she re-entered the little drawing-room.
Florence was seated by the open window, looking out. She was resting her chin on the palm of her hand as she gazed across the rose-garden. At that moment Trevor went quietly by. He stooped to pick one or two roses; then he turned and looked at Florence. Florence smiled very faintly, and a rush of colour came into Trevor's face. Mrs. Trevor then came up to Florence and spoke.
"I do it because my son wishes it," she said, "and I also do it because I take an interest in you. He has told me of your great success in the literary market. You, young and inexperienced, have had an article accepted by so great a magazine as the Argonaut. You scarcely know what an immense success you have won. I did not, of course, understand what your occupation in London was likely to be; but if you are to be a writer, why not come and live with me here? I have a nice little room which I can offer you, and this drawing-room will always be at your disposal, for I sit as a rule in my dining-room. You can go into town when you want to, and you will make me happy, and—and I think Maurice would like it."
As Mrs. Trevor spoke she looked full at the girl, and Florence found herself trembling and even colouring as Trevor's name was mentioned.