He left Florence and her mother at the door of their home an hour later, but he did not have the opportunity of holding the little white hand in his for one moment, or of holding even a word of conversation with her.
"Well," said Mrs. St. John, when she and her daughter found themselves alone for a moment, "I saw him take you to the conservatory. You were gone a long time. Did he propose?"
"Yes!" returned the girl, languidly.
"Yes!" echoed Mrs. St. John. "Why, how can you take it so calmly, my Florence? You accepted him, of course?"
"No," returned the girl, calmly. "I said that I would like to have two months to consider the matter before the subject was broached to you."
"You are mad, Florence!" cried her mother. "A wealthy young man like that is not captured every day."
"We are not so poor, mamma, that I should make a god of wealth," said the girl.
"Oh, certainly not," said her mother; "but I have always been afraid you would be sought after by some fortune-hunter."