There was one point on which Florence received information from these two suitors who had come to her at Brussels.  They were both favored, one after the other, by her mother; and would not have been so favored had her mother absolutely believed in Captain Mountjoy.  It seemed to her as though her mother would be willing that she should marry any one, so long as it was not Harry Annesley.  “It is a pity that there should be such a difference,” she said to herself.  “But we will see what firmness can do.”

Then Lady Mountjoy spoke to her.  “You have heard of M. Grascour, my dear?”

“Yes; I have heard of him, aunt.”

“He intends to do you the honor of asking you to be his wife.”

“So mamma tells me.”

“I have only to say that he is a man most highly esteemed here.  He is well known at the court, and is at the royal parties.  Should you become his wife, you would have all the society of Brussels at your feet.”

“All the society of Brussels would do no good.”

“Perhaps not.”

“Nor the court and the royal parties.”

“If you choose to be impertinent when I tell you what are his advantages and condition in life, I cannot help it.”

“I do not mean to be impertinent.”

“What you say about the royal parties and the court is intended for impertinence, knowing as you do know your uncle’s position.”

“Not at all.  You know my position.  I am engaged to marry another man, and cannot therefore marry M. Grascour.  Why should he be sent to me, except that you won’t believe me when I tell you that I am engaged?” Then she marched out of the room, and considered within her own bosom what answer she would give to this new Belgian suitor.

She was made perfectly aware when the Belgian suitor was about to arrive.  On the day but one after the interview with her aunt she was left alone when the other ladies went out, and suspected that even the footmen knew what was to happen, when M. Grascour was shown into the drawing-room.  There was a simple mode of dealing with the matter on his part,—­very different from that state of agitation into which Harry had been thrown when he had made his proposition.  She was quite prepared to admit that M. Grascour’s plan might be the wisest; but Harry’s manner had been full of real love, and had charmed her.  M. Grascour was not in the least flustered, whereas poor Harry had been hardly able to speak his mind.  But it had not mattered much whether Harry spoke his mind or not, whereas all the eloquence in the world could have done no good for M. Grascour.  Florence had known that Harry did love her, whereas of M. Grascour she only knew that he wanted to make her his wife.

“Miss Mountjoy,” he said, “I am charmed to find you here.  Allow me to add that I am charmed to find you alone.”  Florence, who knew all about it, only bowed.  She had to go through it, and thought that she would be able to do so with equanimity.  “I do not know whether your aunt or your mother have done me the honor of mentioning my name to you.”