"You didn't like my last paper, you know."
"Oh, I admired it for its cleverness. I didn't care for the tone. It is unnecessary to give way to all one's feelings. When you have written more and oftener, you will have learned the art of suppression."
"I have just had a letter from mother," said Florence; "I will show you her postscript. You will see that, although she was proud of me, it was the pride of ignorance. This is what our clergyman, Mr. Walker, says, and he is right."
Franks read the few words of the postscript.
"I suppose he is right," he answered. He looked full at the girl and half-smiled.
"It would be extremely successful if you would do a paper in a totally different tone," he said; "could you not try?"
"I cannot give what is not in me."
"Well, have a good try. Choose your own subject. Let me have the very best you can. I must not stay any longer now. The story at least will reach me in good time?"
"Yes, and I think you will like it rather better than the last. Good-bye," said Florence.