Part 8 (2/2)
”She told me that you were a teacher in the same school.”
”Did she?” said Bertha. Her face turned pale, but her companion was not looking at her at that moment. ”Ah, yes, poor girl: that is how I happen to know all about it. It was hushed up at the time, and of course Florence has quite retrieved her character. It was nothing whatever but what a girl tempted as she was would do, but it settled her as far as Mrs. Aylmer was concerned, and if you do not wish to bring fresh trouble upon the niece you will avoid the subject with her aunt. That is what I wished to say to you.”
”How can I avoid it? It is quite impossible for me to be long with Mrs.
Aylmer and prevent her speaking about what she has made up her mind to tell me.”
”I have been thinking of that,” said Bertha; ”the very best thing you can do is to go up to London to-morrow morning.”
”I go to London to-morrow?”
”Yes; go away for the present. I will tell her that you have had sudden news of your mother: that she wants to see you; or you can leave her a note to that effect.”
”But it would not be true.” Trevor darted a keen glance at his companion.
Bertha coloured again.
”It is difficult to manage with people who are as quixotically straight as you are,” she said, after a pause; ”I want you to keep away for your own sake. If what I have suggested does not please you, think of something else.”
”I will tell her that I wish for a change: that is true enough,” he answered; ”but how will that help me? When I come back, she will tell me the thing you do not wish me to hear about Miss Aylmer.”
”Oh, I never said I did not wish you to hear it: I think it would be better for your peace of mind not to hear it: that is all. I have said that it was a little shady: that it happened years ago: that Florence has quite retrieved her character.”
Trevor stamped his foot impatiently.
”I will not go away to-morrow,” he said, after a pause. ”I should like to see Miss Florence Aylmer again. I will ask her to tell me frankly what occurred some years ago.”
”You will?” said Bertha, and now her face looked frightened.
”Yes,” he answered, looking full into her eyes; ”I will. She is perfectly honest. She can excuse herself if necessary. Anyhow, she shall have the chance of telling her own story in her own way.”
CHAPTER VIII.
BERTHA'S QUANDARY.
It was by no means the first time that Bertha Keys had found herself in a quandary. She was very clever at getting out of these tight corners: of extricating herself from these, to all appearances, impossible situations; but never had she been more absolutely nonplussed than at the present moment.
When she and Florence had both left Cherry Court School her prospects had been dark. She had been dismissed without any hope of a character, and had, as it were, to begin the world over again. Then chance put Mrs.
Aylmer the great in her way. Mrs. Aylmer wanted a companion, a clever companion, and Bertha was just the girl for the purpose. She obtained the situation, managing to get references through a friend, taking care to avoid the subject of Cherry Court School, and never alluding to Florence Aylmer.
Mrs. Aylmer was very sore and angry just then. She disliked Florence immensely for having disgraced her; she did not wish the name of Florence Aylmer to be breathed in her presence; she was looking around anxiously for an heir. With Bertha Keys she felt soothed, sympathised with, restored to a good deal of her former calm. By slow degrees she told Bertha almost all of her history; in particular she consulted with Bertha on the subject of an heir.
”I must leave my money to someone,” she said; ”I hate the idea of giving it to charities. Charity, in my opinion, begins at home.”
”That is does, truly,” answered Bertha, her queer green-grey eyes fixed on her employer's face.
”And Florence Aylmer being completely out of the question,” continued Mrs. Aylmer, ”and Florence's mother being about the biggest fool that ever breathed, I must look in another direction for my heir.”
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