"Of me--you forget yourself, Dora!" cries Florence, with pale lips, but
head erect. "Speaking lightly of me!" she repeats.

"Young men are often careless in their language," explains Dora
hurriedly, feeling that she has gone too far. "He meant nothing unkind,
you may be sure!"

"I am quite sure"--firmly.

"Then no harm is done"--smiling brightly. "And now, good-night, dearest;
go to bed instead of sitting there looking like a ghost in those
mystical moonbeams."

"Good-night," says Florence icily.

There is something about her that causes Mrs. Talbot to feel almost
afraid to approach and kiss her as usual.

"Want of rest will spoil your lovely eyes," adds the widow airily; "and
your complexion, faultless as it always is, will not be up to the mark
to-morrow. So sleep, foolish child, and gather roses from your
slumbers."

So saying, she kisses her hand gayly to the unresponsive Florence, and
trips lightly from the room.