Part 18 (1/2)

”What an extraordinary girl!” thought Florence to herself; ”but I suppose I like her. She is so fearfully downright, I feel almost afraid of her.”

Miss Franks darted here and there, busy with her cooking. After a time, with a little sigh of excitement, Florence saw her put the extinguisher on the spirit-lamp. She then hastily lit the lamp with the green shade, and, placing it on the table where the verbena and the sweetbriar and mignonette gave forth such intoxicating odours, she laid a cup of steaming frothy cocoa by Florence's side, and a plate of biscuits not far off.

”Now then, eat, drink, and be thankful,” said Miss Franks. ”I love cocoa at this hour. Yours is made entirely of milk, so it will be vastly nouris.h.i.+ng. I am going to enjoy my cup also.”

She flung herself into the straw chair lined with cus.h.i.+ons, and took her own supper daintily and slowly. While she ate, her bright eyes kept darting about the room noting everything, and from time to time fastening themselves with the keenest penetration on Florence's flushed face.

Florence felt that never in the whole course of her life had she enjoyed anything more than that cup of cocoa.

When the meal was finished Miss Franks jumped up and began to wash the cups and saucers.

”You must let me help you,” said Florence. She sprang very determinedly to her feet. ”I have done these things over and over for mother at home,” she said, ”and I really must wash my own cup and saucer.”

”You shall wipe, and I will wash,” said Miss Franks. ”I don't at all mind being helped. Division of labour lightens toil, does it not? There, take that tea-towel; it is a beauty, is it not? It is Russian.”

It was embroidered at each edge with wonderful st.i.tches in red, and was also trimmed with heavy lace.

”I have a sister in Russia, and she sent me a lot of these things when I told her I meant to take up housekeeping,” said Miss Franks. ”Now that we have washed up and put everything into apple-pie order, what about that ma.n.u.script?”

”What ma.n.u.script?” said Florence, starting and colouring.

”The one you brought into the room. You don't suppose I didn't see? You have hidden it just under that pillow on the sofa. Lie down once more on your place of repose, and let me run my eye over it.”

”Would you?” said Florence. She coloured very deeply. ”Would you greatly mind reading it aloud?”

”You have written it, I presume?” said Miss Franks.

Florence did not say anything. She shut up her mouth into rather a hard line. Edith Franks nodded twice to herself; then, putting on her pincenez, she proceeded to read the ma.n.u.script. She had a perfectly well-trained voice without a great amount of expression in it. She read on at first slowly and smoothly. At the end of the first page she paused for a moment, and looked full up at her companion.

”How well you have been taught Englis.h.!.+” she said.

Still Florence did not utter a word.

At the end of the second page Miss Franks again made a remark.

”Your writing is so good that I have never to pause to find out the meaning of a word, and you have a very pure Saxon style.”

”Oh, I wish you would go on, and make your comments at the end,” said Florence then, in an almost cross tone.

”My dear, that answer of yours requires medicine. I shall certainly insist upon your taking a tonic to your room with you. I can dispense a little already, and have some directions by me. I can make up something which will do you a lot of good.”

”Do go on reading,” said Florence.

Edith Franks proceeded with the ma.n.u.script. Her even voice still flowed on without pause or interruption. At the end of the third or fourth page, however, she ceased to make any remarks: she turned the pages now rapidly, and about the middle of the story her voice changed its tone.

It was no longer even nor smooth: it became broken as though something oppressed her, then it rose triumphant and excited. She had finished: she flung the ma.n.u.script back almost at Florence's head with a gay laugh.

”And you pretend, you pretend,” she said, ”that you are a starving girl--a girl out of a situation! You are a sham, Miss Aylmer--you are a sham.”

”What do you mean?” said Florence.

”Why, this,” said Edith Franks. She took up the ma.n.u.script again.