But of this the squire
neither felt or knew anything. The lady had long been dead, and could be
none the better or the worse for aught that could be said of her. To the
captain it was not so, and it was preferable to him to believe his
father to be dishonest than his mother. He, at any rate, was in truth in
love with his cousin Florence, and when the story was told to him one of
its first effects was the bearing which it would have upon her mind.
It has been said that within two or three days after the communication
he had left London. He had done so in order that he might at once go
down to Cheltenham and see his cousin. There Miss Mountjoy lived, with
her mother.
The time had been when Florence Mountjoy had been proud of her cousin,
and, to tell the truth of her feelings, though she had never loved him,
she had almost done so. Rumors had made their way through even to her
condition of life, and she in her innocence had gradually been taught to
believe that Captain Scarborough was not a man whom she could be safe in
loving. And there had, perhaps, come another as to whom her feelings
were different. She had, no doubt, at first thought that she would be
willing to become her cousin's wife, but she had never said as much
herself.
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