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"Lord mayor of London," Mrs. Hibbert | repeated, and rubbed her eyes a little; it seemed like part of a play and not a very sane one the old lady, her deep mourn ing, her winking left eye, and the sudden introduction of a lord mayor.

"Yes, lord mayor of London," repeated Mrs. Baines," and he lets me work for my daily bread."

"Is Walter also related to the lord mayor ?"

"No, my love. Your Walter's grandfather married twice, I was the daughter of the first marriage — my mother was the daughter of a London merchant-your Walter's father was the son of the second marriage."

"It is too complicated to understand," Florence answered in despair. "And is there no one else, Aunt Anne?"

"There are many others, but they are indifferent as he is, they are cold and hard, Florence; that is a lesson one has to learn when fortune deserts one," and the old lady shook her head mournfully.

"But, dear Aunt Anne," Florence said, aghast at this sudden vista of the world, "tell me who they are besides Sir William Rammage; let Walter try what can be done. Surely they cannot all be as cold and hard as you think."

"It is of no use, my love," Mrs. Baines said sadly.

"But perhaps you are mistaken, Aunt Anne, and they will after all do something for you. Do tell me who they are."

"Mrs. Baines drew herself up proudly, the tears that had seemed to be on their way a minute ago must have retreated suddenly, for her eyes looked bright, and she spoke in a quick, determined voice.

"My love," she said, "you must not expect me to give you an account of all my friends and relations and of what they will or will not do for me. Don't question me, my love, for I cannot allow it I cannot, indeed. I have told you that I am destitute, that I am a widow, that I am working for my living; and that must suffice. I am deeply attached to you and Walter; there is in my heart a picture that will never be effaced of you and him standing in our garden at Rottingdean, of your going away in the sunshine with flowers and preserve in your hands-the preserve that I myself had made. It is because I love you that I have come to you to-day, and because I feel assured that you love me; but you must remember, Florence, that I am your aunt, and you must treat me with proper respect and consideration."

"But, Aunt Anne gan, astonished.

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Mrs. Baines put her hand on Florence's shoulder.

"There there," she said forgivingly, "I know you did not mean to hurt me, but "and here her voice grew tender and tremulous again—"no one, not even you or Walter, must presume, for I cannot allow it. There - kiss me," and she pulled Florence's head down on to her breast, while suddenly for there were wonderfully quick transitions of feeling expressed on the old wan face all through the interview a smile that was almost joyous came to her lips. "I am so glad to see you again, my dear," she said; " I have looked forward to this day for years. I loved you from the very first moment I saw you at Brighton, and I have always loved your Walter. I wish," she went on, as Florence gently disengaged herself from the black cashmere embrace, "I wish you could remember him a little boy as I do. He had the darkest eyes and the lightest hair in the world."

"His hair is a beautiful brown now," her niece answered, rather thankfully.

"Yes, my love, it is," the old lady said, with a little glee at the young wife's pride. "And so is yours. I think you have the prettiest hair I ever saw." There was not a shade of flattery in her voice, so that Florence was appeased after the severe snub of a moment ago, and smoothed her plaits with much complacency. now, tell me, when will your dear one be at home, for I long to see him?"

"And

"He is very uncertain, Aunt Anne, I fear he has no fixed time, but I know that he will try and make one to see you when he hears that you are in town."

"I am sure he will," Mrs. Baines said, evidently certain that there was no doubt at all about that." Are the dear children at home?" she inquired, "I long for a sight of them."

"Shall I call them?"

"Yes, my love; it will do my heart good to look at them."

Nothing loth, Florence opened the door and called up-stairs:—

"Monty and Catty, are you there, my beauties? I want you, my chicks."

There was a quick patter-patter overhead, a door opened and two little voices answered both at once:

"We'll come, mummy, we'll come." A moment later there entered a sturdy boy of six, with eyes like his father's, and a girl of three and a half, with nut-brown hair hanging down her back.

"We are come, mummy," they exclaimed joyfully, as their mother, taking their fat hands in hers, led them up to Aunt Anne. The old lady took them in her arms and kissed them.

for fear I had taken cold whilst waiting for the carriage."

It seemed as if Aunt Anne had been extraordinarily lucky.

theatre.

"And you like being with young people, "Bless them," she said, "bless them. II think," Florence said, noticing how her should have known them anywhere. They sad face lighted up while she spoke of the couldn't be any one else's children. My darlings, do you know me?" Monty drew back a little way and looked at her saucily as if he thought the question rather a joke.

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No, we don't know you," he answered in a jovial voice, "we don't know you a bit."

"Bless him," exclaimed Aunt Anne, and laughed aloud for glee. "He is so like his father, it makes me forget all my sorrows to see him. My dear children," she went on, solemnly addressing them, "I did not bring you anything, but before the day is finished you shall have proof that Aunt Anne loves you. Good-bye, my dears, good-bye," and she looked at their mother with an expression that said plainly, "Send them away."

Florence opened the door and the children pattered back to the nursery. When they had gone Mrs. Baines rose.

"I must go too," she said sadiy, as if she had overtaken her griefs and sorrows again, "for I am no longer my own mistress. Remember that, dear, when you think of me, or when you and Walter converse together."

"But it is nearly one o'clock, will you not stay and lunch? Walter might come, and he would be so glad to see you,' Florence said anxiously, remembering that as yet she had done nothing to help the old lady, and without her husband she felt it was too awkward a task to attempt.

"No, my dear, no; but I shall come again when you least expect me, on the chance of finding you at home."

"And is there nothing I can do for you, Aunt Anne?" Florence asked hesitatingly, "no way in which I can be useful to you?"

No, my dear, no; but thank you and bless you for your tender heart. There is nothing I want. I wish you could see Mrs. North, Florence, she is kindness itself. I have been in the house five weeks, and they have never once failed to show me the attention that is due to me," she said with grave dignity. "We went to Covent Garden theatre last night-I refused to go to Drury Lane, for I did not approve of the name of the piece-they insisted on giving me the best place, and were most anxious when we reached home

"It is always a pleasure to me to witness happiness in others," Aunt Anne answered, with a long, benevolent sigh,

"and it is a comfort to know that to this beautiful girl-for Mrs. North is only four-and-twenty, my dear - my presence is beneficial and my experience of life useful. I wish you would come and call on her."

"But she might not like it. I don't see why she should desire my acquaintance.' "She would think it the greatest honor to know anybody belonging to me."

"Is she an old friend, Aunt Anne, or how did you know her?" Florence asked, wondering at the great kindness extended to the old lady, and whether there was a deep foundation for it. She did not think it likely, from all that she had heard, that companions were generally treated with so much consideration. For a moment Aunt Anne was silent, then she answered coldly:

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'I met her through an advertisement. But you must not question me, you must not indeed, Florence. I never allowed any one to do that, and I am too old to begin; too old, and feeble, and worn out to allow it even from you, my love."

"But, dear Aunt Anne, I did not mean to hurt or offend you in any way. I merely wondered, since these people were so kind to you, if they were new or old friends," Florence said affectionately, but still a little stiffly, for now that she had been as sured the old lady was so well provided for, she felt that she might defend herself.

"Then you must forgive me,” Mrs. Baines said penitently. "I know I am foolishly sensitive sometimes, but in my heart I shall never misjudge you or Walter; be assured of that, my darling."

She went slowly up to a little ebonyframed looking-glass that was over a bracket in an out-of-the-way corner - it was odd that she should even have noticed it - and stood before it arranging her bonnet, till she was a mass of blackness and woe. "My love," she said, "would you permit your servant to call a cab for me? I prefer a hansom. I promised Mrs. North that I would return to luncheon, and I fear that I am already a little behindhand."

"We must risk that I'll tell you what, Floggie dear, ask her for next Thursday, with Fisher and Wimple and Ethel Dunlop. She'll make the number up to six, which will be better than five. It will please her enormously to be asked to meet people - in your invitation say a small dinner-party.' "Very well. It will be a comfort if she takes Mr. Wimple off our hands. Perhaps she will."

"Oh, but hansoms are so expensive, | course she may not be able to come if her and I have been the cause "Florence time is not her own." began as she put her hand on the bell. "I must beg you not to mention it. I would spend my last penny on you and Walter, you know I would." Mrs. Baines answered with the manner that had carried all before it at Brighton. It brought back to Florence's memory her own helplessness and Walter's on that morning which had ended in the carrying away of jam and yellow flowers from Rottingdean. She went down-stairs with the old lady and opened the door. Mrs. Baines looked at the hansom and winked. "It is a curious thing, my dear Florence," she said, "but ever since I can remember I have had a very marked repugnance to a grey horse."

"Shall we send it away, and get another?"

"No, my dear, no; I think it foolish to encourage a prejudice, nothing would induce me now not to go by that cab."

She gathered her shawl close round her shoulders and went slowly down the steps; when she was safely in the hansom and the door closed in front of her, she bowed with dignity to Florence, as if from the private box of a theatre.

That same afternoon there arrived a pot of maidenhair fern with a card attached to it on which was written, Mrs. Walter Hibbert, from Aunt Anne, and two smaller pots of bright flowers For the dear children.

"How very kind of her," exclaimed Florence; "but she ought not to spend her money on us, the money she earns too. Oh, she is much too generous."

CHAPTER IV.

"I WISH we could do something for Aunt Anne," Mrs. Hibbert said to her husband that evening. "It was very kind of her to send us those flowers."

"Let's ask her to dine."

"Of course we will, she is longing to see you; still, asking her to dine will not be doing anything for her."

"But it will please her very much, she likes being treated with respect," Walter laughed. "Let's send her a formal invitation. You see these people she is with evidently like her and may give her a hundred or two a year, quite as much as she wants, so that all we can do is to show her some attention. Therefore, I repeat, let's ask her to dine."

"It's so like a man's suggestion," Florence exclaimed; "but still, we'll do it if you like. She wants to see you. Of

So a quite formal invitation was sent to Aunt Anne, and her reply awaited with much anxiety. It came the next morning, and ran thus:

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"MY DEAR FLORENCE,

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"It gives me sincere pleasure to accept the invitation that you and your dear Walter have sent me for next Thursday. It is long since I went into society, except in this house, where it is a matter of duty. But, for your sakes, dears, I will put aside my sorrow for the evening, and try to enjoy, as I ought, the pleasure of seeing you both, and of meeting those whom you honor with your friendship.

"In the happiness and excitement of seeing you the other day, dear Florence, I forgot to mention one object of my visit. It is most important to me in my present unfortunate position to hide my poverty and to preserve an appearance that will prevent me from being slighted in the society in which-sorely against my will I am thrown. Will you, therefore, my dear ones, send me a black satin sunshade, plain but good, lined with black in preference to white, and with a handle sufficiently distinctive to prevent its being mistaken for another person's if it is left in the hall when I am paying visits. There are many other things I require, but I do not like to tax your kindness too far, or, knowing your generous hearts, to cause you disquiet even by naming them. At the same time, dear Florence, I am sure you will understand my embarrassment when I tell you I only possess four pockethandkerchiefs fit to use in a house like this. If you have any lying by you with a deep black border, and would lend them to me till you require them, it would be a real boon.

"Kiss your sweet children for me. I sent them yesterday a little token that I did not cease to think of you all as soon as I had left your presence - as the world is only too prone to do.

"Your affectionate Aunt,
"ANNE BAINES.

"P.S.-I should be glad, my darlings, | to have the sunshade without delay, for the afternoons are getting to be so bright and sunny that I have requested Mrs. North to have out the open carriage for her afternoon drive."

"Really, Waiter," Mrs. Hibbert said, "she is a most extraordinary person. If she is so poor that she cannot buy a few pocket-handkerchiefs, why did she send us those presents yesterday? Flowers are expensive at this time of year."

"It was very like her," Walter answered; "I remember years ago hearing that she had quarrelled with my Uncle Tom because she sent his son a wedding present, and then he would not lend her the money to pay the bill."

"Of course we will send her the things, but she is a foolish old lady. As if I should keep deep black-bordered handkerchiefs by me; really it is too absurd."

"Yes, darling, it is too absurd. Still, send her a nice sunshade, or whatever it is she wants; I suppose a pound or two will do it," Walter said, and hurried off to | the office.

But Florence sat thinking. The sunshade and the handkerchiefs would make a big hole in the money allowed for weekly expenses, could not indeed come out of it. She wished she could take things as easily as Walter did, but the small worries of life never fell upon him as they did upon her. She was inclined to think that it was the small worries that made wrinkles, and she thought of those on poor Aunt Anne's face. Perhaps that was why women as a rule had so many more lines than men. The lines on a man's face were generally fewer and deeper, but on a woman's they were small and everywhere, they symbolized the little cares of every day, the petty anxieties that found men too hard to mark. She went through her accounts, she was one of those women who keep them carefully, who know to a penny how they spent their last five-pound note. But it was only because she was anxious to give Walter the very best that could be got out of his income that she measured so often the length and breadth of her purse. However, it was no good. The old lady must have her sunshade and her handkerchiefs. So Florence walked to Regent Street and back to buy them. She went without the gloves she had promised herself, and determined that Catty should wait for a hat, and that she would cut down the dessert for a week at the little evening dinner.

The brown paper parcel was directed and sent off to Mrs. Baines. With a sigh Florence wished she were more generous, and dismissed the whole business from her mind.

"Mrs. Baines called, ma'am," the servant said, when she reached home that day. She wanted the address of a very good dressmaker."

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"Is she here? I hope you begged her to come in?" Florence asked, with a vision of Aunt Anne calling in a hurry, tired by her walk, and distressed at finding no one at home.

"Oh no, ma'am; she didn't get out of the carriage when she heard you were not in. I gave her Madame Celestine's address, and said that she had made your best evening gown, as she was very par ticular about its being a grand dress. maker."

"I suppose it was for Mrs. North," Florence thought. "Poor Aunt Anne is not at all likely to want Madame Celestine."

Then she imagined the spare old lady in a scanty black gown going out with the pretty, and probably beautifully dressed girls to whom she was chaperon.

As a sort of amends for the unkindness of fate, Florence made some little soft white adornments for throat and wrists such as widows wear, and that yet look smart, and, packing them in a cardboard box, sent them - With kind love to Aunt Anne: "Perhaps they will gratify her pride a little, poor dear, and it is so nice to have one's pride gratified," she thought. And then, for a space Aunt Anne was almost forgotten.

The days slipped by anxiously enough to the Hibberts to Walter, for he knew that Mr. Fisher meant to talk with Florence about something that had been agreed between them at the office; to Florence, because without increasing the bills she really could not manage to put that little dinner together. Walter was particular; he liked luxuries, and things well managed, and she could never bear to disappoint him. However, the evening came at last. The flowers and dessert were arranged, the claret was at the right temperature, the champagne was in ice. Florence went up-stairs to say good-night to the children, and to rest for five minutes. Walter came in with a flower for her dress.

"It is so like you," she said as she kissed it; "you are always the thoughtfulest old man in the world."

"I wished I had bought one for Aunt

Anne as I came along in the hansom; but I forgot it at first and then I was afraid to go back because it was getting so late."

He dressed and went down-stairs. Florence leisurely began to get ready. Ten minutes later a carriage stopped; a bell rang, there was a loud double knocksome one had arrived.

"But it is a quarter of an hour too soon?" she said in dismay to Maria who was helping her.

The maid stood on tiptoe by the window to see who the early comer might be.

"It's only Mrs. Baines, ma'am." They had learned to say "only" already, Florence thought. She was angry at the word, yet relieved at its not being a more important visitor.

"I am very vexed at not being dressed to receive her," she said coldly, in order to give Mrs. Baines importance. "Make haste and fasten my dress, Maria."

There was a sound of some one coming up-stairs, a rustle of silk, and a gentle knock at the bedroom door.

"My darling, I came early on purpose. May I be allowed to enter, dear Florence ? "

The voice was certainly Aunt Anne's, but the tone was so joyous, so different from the woebegone one of ten days ago that it filled her hearer with amazement. "Come in, Aunt Anne, if you like; but 1 am not quite ready."

"I know that, my love. I hoped you would not be," and Aunt Anne entered, beaming with satisfaction, beautifully dressed, her long robe trailing, her thin throat wrapped with softest white of some filmy kind, her shoes fastened with heavy bows that showed a paste diamond in them, her hands full of flowers. Florence could scarcely believe her eyes. "Aunt Anne!" she exclaimed, and stood still looking at her.

ing to Florence, she asked with the joyousness still in her manner, "And now, my dear, tell me if you like my dress?" "It is quite beautiful, and so handsome."

"My darling, I am thankful to hear you say that, for I bought it to do you honor. I was touched to get your invitation, and determined that you should not be ashamed of me. Did the housemaid tell you that she gave me Madame Celestine's address?"

"Yes. But, Aunt Anne, I hope you bargained with her. She costs a fortune if you don't."

"Never mind what she costs. I wished to prove to you both how much I loved you and desired to do you honor. And now, my dear, I perceive that you are ready, let us go down. I have not seen Walter yet, and am longing to put my arms round his dear neck before any one else arrives and forces me into a formality that my heart would resent."

She turned and led the way down-stairs. Florence followed meekly feeling almost shabby and altogether left in the shade by the magnificent relation who had appeared for their simple party.

Aunt Anne trod with the footstep of one who knew the house well; she opened the drawing-room door with an air of precision, and going towards Walter, who met her half way across the room, dropped her head with its white cap on his shoulder.

"My dear Walter, no words can express how glad I am to see you again, to meet you in your own house, in your own room. It makes me forget all I have suffered since we parted; it even forces me to be gay," she murmured, in an almost sobbing tone.

"All right, dear," he said cheerily, giv ing her a kiss. "We are very glad to see you. Why, you look uncommonly well; and I say, what an awful swell you are — isn't she, Floggie?"

"He is precisely the same the same as ever," laughed out the old lady just as she had at Brighton seven years before. Precisely the same. Oh, my dear Walter, I sha!!

"Yes, my love," the old lady laughed. "Aunt Anne; and she has brought you these flowers. I thought they might adorn your room, and that they would prove how much you were in my mind, even while I was away from you. Would you gratify" me by wearing one or two? I see you have a white rose there, but I am sure Walter will not mind your wearing one of his aunt's flowers; and, my love, perhaps you will permit your maid to take the rest down-stairs to arrange before the arrival of your other guests. I will myself help you to finish your toilette."

With an air that was a command, she gave the flowers to Maria and carefully watched her out of the room. Then turn

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But here the door opened and for the moment Mr. Wimple's arrival put an end to Aunt Anne's remembrances.

Mr. Wimple was evidently conscious of his evening clothes; his waistcoat was cut so as to show as much white shirt as possible; his tie looked a little rumpled, as though the first attempt at making a bow had not been successful. He shook hands solemnly with his host and hostess, then

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