She
knew of course, she said, that she could not marry him. She was
only waiting a fit opportunity to free herself from a connection
which, however delightful, she was unable to justify. How the maid
interpreted her confession, I do not care to enquire very closely,
but anyhow it was in a manner that promised much to her after
influence. I hasten over this part of Florimel's history, for that
confession to Caley was perhaps the one thing in her life she had
most reason to be ashamed of, for she was therein false to the
being she thought she loved best in the world. Could Lenorme have
known her capable of unbosoming herself to such a woman, it would
almost have slain the love he bore her. The notions of that odd
and end sort of person, who made his livelihood by spreading paint,
would have been too hideously shocked by the shadow of an intimacy
between his love and such as she.
Caley first comforted the weeping girl, and then began to insinuate
encouragement. She must indeed give him up--there was no help
for that; but neither was there any necessity for doing so all at
once. Mr Lenorme was a beautiful man, and any woman might be proud
to be loved by him. She must take her time to it. She might trust
her. And so on and on--for she was as vulgar minded as the worst
of those whom ladies endure about their persons, handling their
hair, and having access to more of their lock fast places than they
would willingly imagine.
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