“Is there anything the matter that you should go just now?”

“Not exactly the matter, mamma; but you can see the letter.”

Mrs. Burton read it slowly, and felt sure that much was the matter.  She knew that Cecilia would have written in that strain only under the influence of some great alarm.  At first she was disposed to think that she herself would go to London.  She was eager to know the truth—­eager to utter her loud maternal bleatings if any wrong were threatened to her lamb.  Florence might go with her, but she longed herself to be on the field of action.  She felt that she could almost annihilate any man by her words and looks who would dare to ill-treat a girl of hers.

“Well, mamma—­what do you think?”

“I don’t know yet, my dear.  I will speak to your papa before dinner.”  But as Mrs. Burton had been usually autocratic in the management of her own daughters, Florence was aware that her mother simply required a little time before she made up her mind.  “It is not that I want to go London for the pleasure of it, mamma.”

“I know that, my dear.”

“Nor yet merely to see him!—­though, of course, I do long to see him!”

“Of course you do—­why shouldn’t you?”

“But Cecilia is so very prudent, and she thinks that it will be better.  And she would not have pressed it, unless Theodore had thought so too!”

“I thought Theodore would have written to me!”

“But he writes so seldom.”

“I expected a letter from him now, as I had written to him.”

“About Harry, do you mean?”

“Well; yes.  I did not mention it, as I was aware I might make you uneasy.  But I saw that you were unhappy at not hearing from him.”

“Oh, mamma, do let me go.”

“Of course you shall go if you wish it; but let me speak to papa before anything is quite decided.”

Mrs. Burton did speak to her husband, and it was arranged that Florence should go up to Onslow Crescent.  But Mrs. Burton, though she had been always autocratic about her unmarried daughters, had never been autocratic about herself.  When she hinted that she also might go, she saw that the scheme was not approved, and she at once abandoned it.

“It would look as if we were all afraid,” said Mr. Burton; “and, after all, what does it come to?  A young gentleman does not write to his sweetheart for two or three weeks.  I used to think myself the best lover in the world if I wrote once a month.”

“There was no penny post then, Mr. Burton.”

“And I often wish there was none now,” said Mr. Burton.  That matter was therefore decided, and Florence wrote back to her sister-in-law, saying that she would go up to London on the third day from that.  In the meantime, Harry Clavering and Theodore Burton had met.