“Oh—good night, Mr. Ferris,” said Mrs. Vervain, giving her hand. “Thank you so much.”
Florida did not look towards him. She gathered her mother’s shawl about her shoulders for the twentieth time that day, and softly urged her in doors, while Ferris let himself out into the campo.
IX.
Florida began to prepare the bed for her mother’s lying down.
“What are you doing that for, my dear?” asked Mrs. Vervain. “I can’t go to bed at once.”
“But mother”—
“No, Florida. And I mean it. You are too headstrong. I should think you would see yourself how you suffer in the end by giving way to your violent temper. What a day you have made for us!”
“I was very wrong,” murmured the proud girl, meekly.
“And then the mortification of an apology; you might have spared yourself that.”