The Time of Roses

  CHAPTER XIII.

  A WEARY WAIT.

  Florence settled down in her attic, and made herself as comfortable ascircumstances would permit.

  With all her faults, and she had plenty, Florence had a straightforwardsort of nature. She was alive to temptation, and when occasion rose, ashas been already seen, could and did yield to it. But just now she wasmost anxious to eat the bread of independence, not to sink under thesway of Bertha Keys, to fight her own battle, and to receive her ownwell-earned reward.

  She made her little attic look as neat and cheery as she could; she wasextremely saving with regard to her food, and set to work at once tryingto obtain employment.

  Now, Florence honestly hated the idea of teaching. She was a fairlyclever girl, but no more. She had certain aptitudes and certain talents,but they did not lie in the teacher's direction. For instance, she wasno musician, and her knowledge of foreign languages was extremely small;she could read French fairly well, but could not speak it; she had onlya smattering of German, and was not an artist. Her special forte wasEnglish history and literature, and she also had a fair idea of some ofthe sciences.

  With only these weapons in hand, and the sum of twenty pounds in herpocket, she was about to fight the world.

  She herself knew well, none better, that her weapons were small and herchance of success not particularly brilliant.

  With a good heart, however, she started out from her lodging on themorning after her arrival in town.

  She went to a registry-office in the Strand and entered her name there.From this office she went to two or three in the West End, and, havingput down her name in each office and answered the questions of the clerkwho took her subscription, returned home.

  She had been assured in four different quarters that it was only amatter of time; that as soon as ever the schools began she would getemployment.

  "There is no difficulty," one and all said to her. "You want to get ateacher's post; you are quite sure to succeed. There will be plenty ofpeople requiring assistance of all sorts at the schools when theholidays are over."

  "What shall I do in the meantime?" said Florence, who knew that severalweeks of the holidays had yet to run.

  "In the meantime," said all these people, "there is nothing to do butwait."

  Florence wondered if she had really left her mother too soon.

  "It would have been cheaper to stay on with the little Mummy," she saidto herself; "but, under the circumstances, I could not stay. I dared notleave myself in Bertha's power. August is nearly through, and theschools will open again about the 20th of September. By then I shallsurely hear of something. Oh, it is hateful to teach; but there is nohelp for it."

  Accordingly Florence returned home in as fair spirits as was to beexpected.

  She wrote and told her mother what she had done, and resolved to spendher time studying at the British Museum.

  There were not many people yet in London, and she felt strange andlonely. A great longing for her old school life visited her. Shewondered where her schoolfellows had gone, and what they were doing, andif they were also as hard pressed as she was.

  Her money seemed to her to be already melting away in a remarkably rapidmanner. She wanted new boots and a neat new serge dress, and thought shemight as well get these necessary articles of apparel now, while she waswaiting for a situation, as later; but, although she bought boots at thevery cheapest place she could find, her funds melted still further, andbefore September was half through she had spent between five and sixpounds of her small stock of money.

  "This will never do," she said to herself; "I shall get so frightenedthat I shall become nervous. What am I to do? How am I to eke out themoney till I get a post as teacher?"

  It was already time for different mistresses at schools to be applyingto her for her valuable services; but, although she listened with abeating heart as she heard the postman run up the stairs and depositletters in the different hall doors of the various flats, very seldomindeed did the good man come up as far as her attic, and then it was aletter from her mother.

  She decided to go again to the offices where she had entered her name,and enquire if there were any post likely to suit her which she couldapply for. She was now received in a totally different spirit.

  "It is extremely unlikely, miss," said one and all of the clerks who hadbeen so specious on the occasion of her first visit, "that we can getyou anything to do. You are not a governess, you know, in the ordinarysense. You cannot teach music, nor languages, nor drawing. What can youexpect, madam?"

  "But you told me," began poor Florence, "you told me when I paid my feeon the previous occasion of calling that you could get me a post withoutthe slightest difficulty."

  "We will do our utmost, of course, madam; but, with your want ofexperience, we can make no definite promise. We certainly made none inthe past," and the clerk whom Florence was interrogating gave her asevere glance, which was meant as a dismissal.

  "If you cannot get me anything to do as a teacher, is there nothing elseyou can think of to suit me? Secretaries are sometimes employed, arethey not?"

  "Secretaryships are not in our line," said the clerk; "at least, not forladies. People prefer men for the post--clever men who understandshorthand. You, of course, know nothing of that accomplishment?"

  "Certainly not! Girls never learn shorthand," said Florence.

  She left one office after the other, feeling sadder and sadder.

  "What is to be done?" she said to herself, almost in tones of despair.