She knew, even, of the income allotted to him for the present,—­of the six hundred pounds a year,—­and had told Florence that as a preliminary income it was more than double that two hundred and fifty pounds which had been taken away from Harry,—­taken away never to be restored.  There was not much in this argument, but still she thought well to use it.  The captain was living with his father, and she did not believe a word about the entail having been done away with.  It was certain that Harry’s uncle had quarrelled with him, and she did understand that a baby at Buston would altogether rob Harry of his chance.  And then look at the difference in the properties!  It was thus that she argued the matter.  But in truth her word had been pledged to Mountjoy Scarborough, and Mountjoy Scarborough had ever been a favorite with her.  Though she could talk about the money, it was not the money that touched her feelings.  “Well;—­he may go to America.  It is a dreadful destiny for a young man, but in his case it may be the best thing that he can do.”

“Of course he intends to come back again?”

“That is as it may be.”

“I do not understand what you mean by a dreadful destiny, mamma.  I don’t see that it is a destiny at all.  He is getting a very good offer for a year or two, and thinks it best to take it.  I might go with him, for that matter.”

A thunder-bolt had fallen at Mrs. Mountjoy’s feet!  Florence go with him to America!  Among all the trials which had come upon her with reference to this young man there had been nothing so bad as this proposal.  Go with him!  The young man was to start in a month!  Then she began to think whether it would be within her power to stop her daughter.  What would all the world be to her with one daughter, and she in America, married to Harry Annesley?  Her quarrel with Florence was not at all as was the quarrel of Lady Mountjoy.  Lady Mountjoy would be glad to get rid of the girl, whom she thought to be impertinent and believed to be false.  But to her mother Florence was the very apple of her eye.  It was because she thought that Mountjoy Scarborough was a grand fellow, and because she thought all manner of evil of Harry Annesley, that she wished Florence to marry her cousin, and to separate herself forever from the other.  When she had heard that Harry was to go to America she had rejoiced, as though he was to be transported to Botany Bay.  Her ideas were old-fashioned.  But when it was hinted that Florence was to go with him she nearly fell to the ground.

Florence certainly had behaved badly in making the suggestion.  She had not intended to make it,—­had not, in truth, thought of it.  But when her mother talked of Harry’s destiny, as though some terrible evil had come upon him,—­as though she were speaking of a poor wretch condemned to be hanged, when all chances of a reprieve were over,—­then her spirit rose within her.  She had not meant to say that she was going.  Harry had never asked her to go.  “If you talk of his destiny I am quite prepared to share it with him.”  That was her meaning.  But her mother already saw her only child in the hands of those American savages.  She threw herself on to a sofa, buried her face in her hands, and burst into tears.