It was worse for her because she had nothing to do but give way to her morbid fancies. This Mrs. O'Keefe was clear-sighted enough to see. "I am sorry to see you so downcast like, my dear young lady," she said. "How can I help it, Mrs. O'Keefe?" returned Florence. "Try not to think of your wicked cousin, my dear." "It isn't of him that I think--it is of my uncle. How could he be so cruel, and turn against me after years of kindness?" "It's that wicked Curtis that is settin' him against you, take my word for it, Miss Florence. Shure, he must be wake-minded to let such a spalpeen set him against a swate young leddy like you." "He is weak in body, not in mind, Mrs. O'Keefe. You are right in thinking that it is Curtis that is the cause of my misfortune." "Your uncle will come to his right mind some day, never fear! And now, my dear, shall I give you a bit of advice?" "Go on, my kind friend. I will promise to consider whatever you say." "Then you'd better get some kind of work to take up your mind--a bit of sewin', or writin', or anything that comes to hand. I suppose you wouldn't want to mind my apple-stand a couple of hours every day?" "No," answered Florence. "I don't feel equal to that." "It would do you no end of good to be out in the open air. It would bring back the roses to your pale cheeks. If you coop yourself up in this dark room, you'll fade away and get thin." "You are right. I will make an effort and go out. Besides, I must see about work." Here Dodger entered the room in his usual breezy way. In his hand he brandished a morning paper. "How are you feelin', Florence?" he asked; he had given up saying Miss Florence at her request. "Here's an advertisement that'll maybe suit you." "Show it to me, Dodger," said Florence, beginning to show some interest.