The Time of Roses

by L. T. Meade

"I do," answered Florence.

"I have taken a room on the third floor, No. 17. What is your number?"

"Oh, I aspire a good bit," said Florence, with the ghost of a smile; "the number of my room is 32."

"May I come and see you?"

"No, thank you."

"What a rude girl! You certainly are fearfully neurotic. Ah! here comes—no, it's not my dinner, it is yours."

The soup Florence had ordered was placed before her. How she wished this bright-eyed girl, with the rude manner, as she considered, would resume her German.

"Would you like me to go on reading?" said the girl.

"You can please yourself, of course," answered Florence.

"I won't look at you, if that is what you mean; but I do wish, if I may not come to see you, that you will come to see me. There are so few girls at present in the house, and those who are there ought to make friends, ought they not? See: this is my card—Edith Franks."