"You can say what you like with regard to Florence Aylmer, but you must not mention one fact."

"What is that?"

"That I happen to know her."

"What do you mean?"

"I do not choose to say what I mean. I trust to your honour not to injure a woman quite as dependent and quite as penniless as Florence Aylmer. I have secured this place, and I wish to stay here. If you are mad, I am sane. I ask you not to mention to Mrs. Aylmer that I know Florence; otherwise, you must go your own gait."

"I will, of course, respect your confidence, but I do not understand you."

"Some day you will, and also what a great fool you are making of yourself," was Bertha's next remark.

She sailed past him out of the room and up to her own bed-room.

CHAPTER XXV.

TREVOR'S RESOLVE.

If Trevor had a fault it was obstinacy. He stayed awake for a short time, but finally dropped asleep, having made up his mind, of course, not to injure Bertha Keys, whom he could not understand in the least, but to have, as he expressed it, a sober talk with Mrs. Aylmer. He saw that Bertha, for reasons of her own, was very much against this course, and he resolved to keep out of her way. He rose early and went for a long ride before breakfast. He did not return until he knew Bertha would be busy over household matters, and Mrs. Aylmer would in all probability be alone in her private sitting-room.

He tapped at her door between eleven and twelve o'clock, and at her summons entered and closed it behind him.

"Ah, Maurice, that is good," said the lady; "come and sit near me. I am quite prepared to have a long chat with you."

"And I want to have a long talk with you, Mrs. Aylmer," was his answer.

He drew a chair forward, and sat where he could see right out over the landscape.

"It is a beautiful day," said the lady.

"Yes," he replied.

"Maurice," she said, after a pause, "you must know that I am very much attached to you."

"You have always been extremely good to me," he answered.

"I am attached to you; it is easy to be good to those one loves. I have never had a child of my own; you stand to me in the place of a son."

"But in reality I am not related to you," he answered.

She frowned slightly.

"There are relations of the heart," she said then. "You have touched my heart. There is nothing I would not do for you."

Again he said: "You are very kind."

She was silent for half a minute, then she proceeded: "You are my heir."

He fidgeted.

"Do not speak until I have finished. I do not like to be interrupted.

You are my heir, and I mean to settle upon you immediately one thousand pounds a year for your own expenses. You can do what you please with that money."

"It is a great deal too much," he said.

"It is not; it is what you ought to have. You can give some of it to your mother--not a great deal, but a little--and the rest you can spend on yourself, or you can h.o.a.rd it, just as you like."

"I shall not h.o.a.rd it," he answered, and his face flushed.

"It will be yours from next month. I am expecting my lawyer, Mr.

Wiltshire, to call here this afternoon. Several matters have to be arranged. Maurice, you will live with me for the present; that is, until you marry."

"I do not mean to marry," he answered.

"All young men say that," she replied. "You will marry as others do.

You will fall in love and you will marry. I shall be very glad indeed to welcome your wife. She shall have the best and most affectionate welcome from me, and I will treat her as though she were my daughter: just as I treat you, Maurice, as though you were my real son."

"But I cannot forget that I am not your son," he answered. "Mrs. Aylmer, there is something I must say."

His words disturbed her for a moment; she did not speak, but looked at him in a puzzled manner; then she said: "If you have something disagreeable to tell me (and I cannot imagine what it is), at least hear my point of view first. I am particularly anxious that you should marry.

As my heir, you are already comparatively rich, and your expectations are excellent. You will have at my death a very large income. You will also be the owner of this fine property. Now, I should like you to marry, and I should like you to marry wealth."

"Why so? How unfair!" said the young man.

"It is a wish of mine. Wealth attracts wealth. There is a girl whom I have heard of--whom I have, I believe, some years ago seen--a very sweet, very graceful, very pretty girl. Her name is Miss Sharston. She was poor, but I have lately heard that Sir John Wallis, the owner of Cherry Court Park, in Buckinghamshire, is going to make her his heiress.

She is coming on a visit here. I cannot, of course, force your inclination, Maurice; but if by any chance you and Catherine Sharston should take a fancy to each other, it would be a union after my own heart."

"Thank you," he answered. He rose immediately to his feet. "You are treating me with your customary liberality. You have always been most liberal, most generous. I am the son of a widow with very small means.

My father was strictly a man of honour. He was a soldier, and he fell in his country's cause. I hope that, although he could not leave me gold, he could and did leave me honour. I cannot afford to have my honour tarnished."

"Maurice! I tarnish your honour! You really make very extraordinary insinuations. What does this mean?"

"You didn't think about it, dear friend; it has not occurred to you to look at it in this light, but, believe me, such is the case."

"Maurice!"

"I only knew of it lately," he continued, "and by an accident. You want to give me a great deal of money now; you want to leave me a large sum of money in the future. You propose that I shall if possible marry a girl who is also to be very rich. That is a subject which cannot even be discussed. I do not think, whatever happens, that I could marry any girl I did not love. If this girl comes here, I shall of course be glad to make her acquaintance, but I do not think it is right or just to her to mention such a subject in connection with her name. But to proceed to other matters. If I were to accept your offer just as you have made it, I should perhaps be able to spend my money, and perhaps in a fashion to enjoy it, but I should no longer feel happy when my brave father's name was mentioned, nor should I feel happy when I looked into the eyes of my real mother."

"Go on, Maurice; this is very quixotic, very extraordinary, and, let me add, very fatiguing," said Mrs. Aylmer. "I make you the best offer I have ever made to anybody, and even you, my dear boy, must recognise limits in our intercourse."

"I ought not to be your heir," he said; "I will come to the point at once. You ought not to leave your money to me; it is not just nor right."

"And pray may I not leave my money to whom I please?"