And then the bell rang, and it was time
to go and dress for dinner.
As the years passed, a restlessness began to grow upon her. She
was unhappy, and at last she knew it. Mrs. Nightingale, too,
began to notice that there was something wrong. It was very odd--
what could be the matter with dear Flo? Mr. Nightingale suggested
that a husband might be advisable; but the curious thing was that
she seemed to take no interest in husbands. And with her
attractions, and her accomplishments, too! There was nothing in
the world to prevent her making a really brilliant match. But no!
She would think of nothing but how to satisfy that singular
craving of hers to be DOING something. As if there was not plenty
to do in any case, in the ordinary way, at home. There was the
china to look after, and there was her father to be read to after
dinner. Mrs. Nightingale could not understand it; and then one
day her perplexity was changed to consternation and alarm.
Florence announced an extreme desire to go to Salisbury Hospital
for several months as a nurse; and she confessed to some
visionary plan of eventually setting up in a house of her own in
a neighbouring village, and there founding 'something like a
Protestant Sisterhood, without vows, for women of educated
feelings'. The whole scheme was summarily brushed aside as
preposterous; and Mrs.
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