She was immediately ushered into the snug drawing-room, bright with firelight. She shut her eyes, and a feeling of pain went through her heart.
"The way of transgressors is very, very hard," she thought. "Shall I ever keep straight? What a miserable character I must be!"
Just then Mrs. Trevor entered the room. She had not been pleased with Florence; she had not been pleased with her manner to her son. Mothers guess things quickly, and she had guessed Maurice's secret many months ago.
Florence held out her hand wistfully, and looked full at the little widow.
"I have come to speak to you," she said. "I want to know if you will"—her lips trembled—"advise me."
"Sit down, my dear," said Mrs. Trevor. She motioned Florence to a seat, but the girl did not take it.
"I have come to you, as the only one in all the world who can help me," continued Florence. "I have something very terrible to say, and I thought perhaps you would listen, and perhaps you would advise. May I speak to you just because I am a very lonely girl and you are a woman?"
"If you put it in that way, of course you may speak," said Mrs. Trevor. "To tell you the truth, I have been displeased with you; I have thought that you have not been fair."
"To whom?" asked Florence.
"To my son Maurice."