"We cannot come to any," answered Florence, in still that low, almost heart-broken voice. Then, all of a sudden, without the least warning, she burst into tears.
"You bring the past back to me, Bertha," she said: "the hateful past."
"It is very silly of you indeed to cry," said Bertha; "and as to the past, goodness knows it is dead and buried deep enough unless you choose to dig it out of its grave. Leave it alone, Florence, and come to terms with me. Now, for goodness' sake stop crying!"
"I won't tell of you just at present," said Florence; "that is the only thing I can say now." Once more she rose.
"You had Kitty Sharston with you this morning," continued Bertha. "She recognised me too, did she not?"
"Yes, we both recognised you."
"I never did anything particular to injure her; I mean, everything came right for her," continued Bertha; "she could scarcely interfere. It is you whom I dread. You and your mother between you can do me harm; but, after all, even at your very worst I may not be deprived of my present comfortable home and my delightful future. But I do not choose to run the risk, so you must promise that you won't betray me."
"Does mother know that Mrs. Aylmer—that Aunt Susan is staying at Dawlish?" continued Florence.
"She probably knows it by this time. Mrs. Aylmer has written her a note asking her to call to see her. She won't see you, so don't imagine it."
"I don't want to see her."