from a comic poem. What does she mean?" Aunt Anne winked as if to give herself perve. "Jane was very impertinent to me one day, my love, because I felt sure that after the fatigue of the journey from town, and the change of air, you would prefer that your delicately nurtured children should eat chicken and have cream with their second course every day for dinner, instead of roast mutton and milk pudding. White meat is infinitely preferable for delicate digestions." "Yes, dear Aunt Anne," Florence said sweetly, and she felt a sudden dread of opening the books, “you are quite right." What did a few chickens and a little cream matter in comparison to the poor old lady's feelings, she thought. "And if you had company, too, of course you wanted to have a smarter table. Whom have you been entertaining, you dear and dissipated Aunt Anne?" "My dear Florence, I have entertained no one but Mr. Wimple. He is a friend of yours and your dear Walter's, and I tried to prove to him that I was worthy to belong to you, by showing him such hospitality as lay in my power." "Yes, dear, and it was very kind of you," Florence said tenderly. After all, why should Aunt Anne be worried through that horrid Mr. Wimple? Walter would have invited him if he had found him in the neighborhood, and why should not Aunt Anne do so in peace, if it pleased her? Of course, now that she herself had returned she could do as she liked about him. She looked at the books. They were not so very bad, after all. "Shall we make up our accounts now, and get it over, or in the morning?" she asked. "I should prefer the morning," Aunt Anne said meekly. "To-night, love, you must be tired, and I am also fatigued with the excitement consequent on seeing you." "What a shame, poor Aunt Anne!" Florence said brightly. "I have worn you out." "Only with happiness, my dear,” said the old lady fondly. Florence put away her books, and stroked Aunt Anne's shoulder as she passed. "We will do our work in the morning," she said. "Yes, my darling, in the morning. In the afternoon I may possibly have an engagement." Florence longed to ask where, but a certain stiffness in Aunt Anne's manner made it impossible. "Have you any news from London?" she ventured to inquire, for she was longing to know about Sir William Rammage. "No, my love, I have no news from London," Mrs. Baines answered, and she evidently meant to say no more. In the morning much time was taken up with the arrival of the donkey-cart and the delight of the children. A great basket of apples was inside the cart, and on the top was a little note explaining that they came from Mrs. Burnett's garden, and she hoped the children might like them. Aurt Anne was as much pleased with the donkey as the rest of the party. "There is a rusticity in the appearance of a donkey," she explained, "that always gives me a sense of being really in the country." "Not when you meet him in London, I fear," Florence said. Mrs. Baines considered for a moment. She seemed to resent the observation. "No, my love, of course not in London; I am speaking of the country," she said reprovingly; then she added, "I should enjoy a little drive occasionally myself if you would trust me with the cart, my love. It would remind me of days gone by. I sometimes drove one at Rottingdean. You are very fortunate, my dear one, in having so few sorrows to remember for I trust you have few. It always saddens me to think of the past. Let us go indoors." Florence put her arm through the old lady's, and led her in. Then she thought of the books again; it would be a good time to make them up. "I am always particular about my accounts, you know, Aunt Anne," she said in an apologetic tone. "Yes, my love," answered the old lady; "I admire you for it." Florence looked at the figures; they made her wince a little, but she said nothing. 66 The bill for the wagonettes, Aunt Anne?" she asked. "That belongs to me, my dear." "Oh no, I can't allow that." "My love, I made an arrangement with Mr. Steggall, and that is sufficient." Again Aunt Anne's tone forbade any discussion. Florence felt sure that one day Steggall's bill would arrive, but she said nothing. “Do you mind giving me the change out of the four pounds?" she asked very gently. Mrs. Baines went slowly over to | born." "Not now, my love; I want to get on with my work." "Perhaps I could get your account-book, Aunt Anne; then I should know how much there is left." Mrs. Baines began to sew. "I did not put anything down in the account-book," she said doggedly. "I considered, dear Florence, that my time was too valuable. It always seems to me great nonsense to put down every penny one spends." "It is a great check on oneself." "I do not wish to keep a check on myself," Mrs. Baines answered scornfully. "Could you tell me how much you have left?" Florence asked meekly. "I hope there may be enough to help us through the week." She did not like to say that she thought it must be nearly all left. "Florence," burst out the old lady with the injured tone in her voice that Florence knew so well, "I have but ten shillings left in the world. If you wish to take it from me you must do so; but it is not like you, my darling." “Oh, Aunt Anne," Florence began, bewildered, "I am sure you I did not mean - I did not know "I'm sure you did not," Mrs. Baines said, with a sense of injury still in her voice, “but there is nothing so terrible or so galling to a sensitive nature like mine and your dear Walter's takes after it, Florence, I am sure as to be worried about money matters." "But indeed, Aunt Anne, I only thought that that " but here she stopped, not knowing how to go on for a moment; "I thought that perhaps the unpaid books represented the household expenses," she added at last. Really, something must be done to make the old lady careful, she thought. The treble note had come into Aunt Anne's voice; it was a sign that tears were not far off. But Florence could not feel as compassionate as she desired. She smarted under the loss of her money. There was nothing at all to represent it, and Aunt Anne did not seem to have the least idea that it had been of any consequence. Florence got up and put the books away, looking across at Aunt Anne while she did so. The expression on the old lady's face was set, and almost angry; her lips were firmly closed. She was working at Catty's little dress. She was a beautiful needle-woman, and embroidered little cuffs and collars on the children's things that were a source of joyful pride to Florence. But even the host of stitches would not pay the week's bills. If only Aunt Anne could be made to understand the value of money, Florence thought-but it was no use thinking, for her foolish, housekeeping heart was full of domestic woe. She went up-stairs to her own room, and, like a real woman who makes no pretence to strongmindedness, sat down to cry. "If Walter were only back," she sobbed, as she rubbed her tearful face against the cushions on the back of the basket-chair by the fireside. "If he were here I should not mind, I might even laugh then. But after I have tried and tried so hard to save and to spend so little, it is hard, and I don't know what to do." She pulled out Walter's letter again and kissed it by way of getting a little comfort, and as she did so, felt the envelope containing the receipts of the bills Mrs. North had paid. She did not believe that Aunt Anne cared whether they were paid or not paid. She always seemed to think that the classes who were what she pleased to consider beneath her, were invented simply for her use and convenience, and that protest in any shape on their part was mere impertinence. The day dragged by. The children pre"My love," Mrs. Baines said, with an vented the dinner-hour from being as awkimpatient shake of her head, "I cannot go ward as it might have been. Mrs. Baines into the details of every little expense. I was cold and courteous. Florence had no am not equal to it. Everything you do words to say. She would make it up with not find charged in the books has either the old lady in the evening, when they been paid, or will be charged, by my re- were alone, she thought. Of course she quest, to my private account, and you must would have to make it up. Meanwhile she leave it so. I really cannot submit to would go for a long walk, it would do her being made to give an explanation of every good. She could think things over quietly, penny I spend. I am not a child, Flor- as she tramped along a lonely road be ence. I am not an inexperienced girl; Itween the hedges of faded gorse and had kept house before, my love if you heather. But it was late in the afternoon will allow me to say so - before you were before she had energy enough to start. Mrs. Baines was in the dining-room, reading the morning paper, which had only just come, when Florence put her head in at the door. She was evidently excited and agitated; she held the paper in one hand, and looked out towards the garden. But she seemed to have forgotten all the unpleasantness of the morning when she spoke. "My love, are you going out?" she asked. "I thought you had an engagement, Aunt Anne, and would not want me." "That is true, my dear, and I shall be glad to be alone for a little while, if you will forgive me for saying it. There is an announcement in the paper that gives me the deepest pain, Florence. Sir William Rammage is ill again he is confined to his room." 66 "Oh, poor Aunt Anne." "I must write to him instantly. I felt sure there was some good reason for his not having told me his decision in regard to the allowance." Then, as if she had suddenly remembered the little scrimmage of the morning, she went on quickly, My love, give me a kiss. Do not think that I am angry with you. I never could be that; but it is unpleasant at my time of life to be made to give an exact account of money. You will remember that, won't you dear? I should never expect it from you. If I had hundreds and hundreds a year I would share them with you and your darlings, and I would ask you for no accounts, dear Florence. I should think that the money was as much yours as mine. You know it, don't you, my love?" "Yes, dear, I think I do," Florence answered, and kissed the old lady affectionately, thinking that perhaps, after all, she had made rather too much fuss. "Then let us forget about it, my darling," Mrs. Baines said, with the gracious smile that always had its influence; "I could never remember anything long of you, but your kindness and hospitality. Believe me, I am quite sure that you did not mean to wound me this morning. It was your zealous care of dear Walter's interests that made you for a moment forget what was due to me. I quite understand, my darling. Now go for your walk, and be assured that Aunt Anne loves you." And Florence was dismissed, feeling as the children had felt the evening before when they had been sent to bed and told of the chocolate under their pillows. CHAPTER XI. to THE grey sky and the dim trees, the black hedges and the absolute stillness, all these proved excellent comforters Florence. They made her philosophical and almost smiling again. It was only when an empty wagonette of Steggall's passed her that she remembered the vexations of the morning. "Poor old lady," she said to herself with almost a laugh, "in future she must not be trusted with money, that is all. If she only would not scold me and treat me like a child, I should not mind it so much. Of course when Walter does it, I like it; but I don't like it from Aunt Anne." She had walked quite a long way. She was getting tired. The messengers of night were abroad, the stray breezes, the dark flecked clouds, the shadows loitering by the trees, the strange little sounds among the hedges by the wayside. Far off, beyond the wood, she heard a clock belonging to a big house strike six. It was time to hurry home. If she walked the two miles between herself and the cottage quickly, she would be in by half past six. At seven, after the children had gone to bed, she and Aunt Anne were to sit down to a little evening meal they called supper. They would be very cosy that night, they would linger over their food, and Aunt Anne should talk of bygone days, and the quaint old world that always seemed to be just behind her. It was rather dull in the country, Florence thought. In the summer, of course, the outdoor life made it delightful, but now there was so little to fill the days, only the children and the housekeeping, wonderings about Walter, and the writing of the bit of diary on very thin paper which she had promised to post out to him every week. She was not a woman who made an intellectual atmosphere for herself. She lived her life through her husband, read the same books, and drew her conclusions by the light of his. Now that he had gone the world seemed half empty, and very dull and tame. There was no glamour over anything. Perhaps it was this that had helped to make her a little unkind to Aunt Anne, for gradually she was persuading herself that she had been unkind. She wished Aunt Anne had an income of her own, and the home for which she had said she longed. It would be so much better for everybody. When she was nearly home, a sudden dread seized her lest Mr. Wimple should be there, but this, she reflected, was not likely. It was long past calling time, and Aunt Anne was too great a stickler for etiquette to allow him to take a liberty, as she would call it. So Florence quickened her steps, and entered her home bravely to the sound of the children's voices up. stairs singing as they went to bed. A fire was blazing in the dining-room, and everything looked comfortable, just as it had the night before. But there was no sign of Aunt Anne. Probably she was up-stairs "getting ready," for a lace cap and bit of white at her throat and an extra formal, though not less affectionate, manner than usual Aunt Anne seemed to think a fitting accompaniment to the evening meal. Florence looked round the dining-room with a little pride of ownership. She was fond of the cottage, it was their very own, hers and Walter's; and how wise they had been to do up that particular room, it made every meal they ate in it a pleasure. That buttery-hatch too, it was absurd that it should be so, but really it was a secret joy to her. Suddenly her eye caught a pack age that had evidently come in her absence. A parcel of any sort was always exciting. This could not be another present from Aunt Anne? and she drew a short breath. Oh no, it had come by rail. Books. She knew what it was some novels from Mr. Fisher. "How kind he is," she said gratefully; "he says so few words, but he does so many things. I really don't see why Ethel should not love him. I don't think she would find it difficult to do so," she thought, with the forgetfulness of womanhood for the days of girlish fancy. and, if necessary, asked to cable over advice. Perhaps Sir William Rammage would interfere. In the midst of all her perturbation seven o'clock struck, and there was no Aunt Anne. Florence was a healthy young woman, and she had had a long walk. The pangs of hunger assailed her vigorously, so, after resisting them till half past seven, she sat down to her little supper alone. Food has a soothing effect on an agitated mind, and a quarter of an hour later, though Aunt Anne had not appeared, Florence had come to the conclusion that she could not get very deeply into debt, because it was not likely that the tradespeople would trust her. Perhaps, too, after all, she had not gone to Guildford. Still, what could keep her out so late? The roads were dark and lonely, she knew no one in the neighborhood. It was to be hoped that nothing had happened to her, and, at this thought, Florence began to reproach herself again for all her unkindness of the morning. But while she was still reviewing her own conduct with much severity there was a soft patter, patter, along the gravel path outside, and a feeble ring at the bell. "That dissipated old lady!" laughed Florence to herself, only too delighted to think that she had returned safely at last. A moment later Aunt Anne entered. She was a little breathless, her left eye winked more frequently than usual, there was an air of happy excitement in her manner. She entered the room quickly, and seated herself in the easy-chair with a sigh of relief. "Mrs. Baines has not yet returned," the "My darling," she said, looking fondly servant said, entering to arrange the table. | at Florence, "I trust you did not wait for "Not returned! Is she out, then?" me, and that I have not caused you any inconvenience. But if I have," she added, in an almost cooing voice, "you will forgive me when you know all." 66 Yes, ma'am, she started half an hour after you did. Steggall's wagonette came for her." Florence groaned inwardly. "Do you know where she has gone?' "I think she has gone to Guildford, ma'am, shopping; she often did while you were away. I heard her tell the driver to drive quickly to the station, as she feared she was late." "Oh. Did any one call, Jane?" "No, ma'am." "Oh yes, dear Aunt Anne, I will forgive you," and Florence signed to Jane to bring a plate. "You must be shockingly hungry," she laughed. "Where have you been, may I know?" "I will tell you presently, my darling, you shall know all. But I can't eat anything," Aunt Anne answered quickly. Even the thought of food seemed to make Then, once more, Florence delivered her impatient. "Jane,” she said, with the herself over to despair. Aunt Anne must little air of pride that Jane resented, “you have gone to buy more surprises, and if need not bring a plate for me. I do not she had only ten shillings in the world it require anything." Then, speaking to was quite clear she would have to get Florence again, she went on with halfthem on credit. Something would have beaming, half-condescending gentleness: to be done. The tradespeople would have" Finish your repast, my darling; pray to be warned. Walter must be written to, don't let my intrusion for it is an intru sion when I am not able to join in your meal-hurry you. When you have finished, but not till then, I have a communication to make to you. It is one I feel to be due to you before any one else; and it will prove to you how much I depend on your sympathy and love." She spoke with earnestness, unfastening her cloak and nervously fastening it the while. Florence looked at her with surprise, with pity. Poor old lady, she thought, how easily she worked herself into a state of excitement. "Tell me what it is Anne," she said gently. occurred to worry you? to Guildford?" "Yes, oh yes, dear Florence had so often heard of that pear-tree. But what could it have to do with the present situation? "I shall never forget the picture you two made," the old lady went on, not heeding the interruption; "I knew all that was in your dear heart then, just as I feel that you will understand all that is in mine now." Her face was flushed, her eyes were almost bright, and there were tears in them, the left one winked tremulously. Florence looked at her in amazement. now, dear Aunt" What is it, Aunt Anne? Do tell me ; "Has anything tell me at once, dear,” she said entreatHave you been ingly. "And tell me where you have been, so late, and in the dark." For a moment Aunt Anne hesitated, then, with a gasp and a strong effort to be firm and dignified, she raised her head and spoke. My dear my dear, all this time I have been with Alfred Wimple. He loves “To Guildford? No, my dear. Something has occurred, but not to worry me. It is something that will make me very happy, and I trust that it will make you very happy to hear it. I rely on your sympathy and Walter's to support me." Florence was not very curious. Aunt Anne had always so much earnestness at her command, and was always prodigal of it. Besides, it did not seem likely that anything important had happened; some trifling pleasure or vexation, probably, nothing more. 66 me." "He loves you," Florence repeated, her eyes full of wonder; "he loves you. Yes, of course he loves you, we all do," she said soothingly, too much surprised to speculate farther. "Yes, he loves me," Aunt Anne said again, in an almost solemn voice, "and I have promised to be his wife." "Aunt Anne! to marry him!" "Yes, dear, to marry him," and she waited as if for congratulations. "But, Aunt Anne, dear Flor At last the little meal was finished, the things pushed through the buttery-hatch, the crumbs swept off the cloth by Jane, who seemed to linger in a manner that Mrs. Baines in her own mind felt to be wholly reprehensible, and wanting in re-ence began in astonishment, and then she spect towards her superiors. But the cloth stopped; for though she had had some was folded and put away at last, the idea of the old lady's infatuation, she had buttery-hatch closed, the fire adjusted, and never dreamt of its ending in matrimony. the door shut. Aunt Anne gave a sigh of Mrs. Baines was excited and strange; it relief, then throwing her cloak back over might be some delusion, some joke that the chair, she rose and stood irresolute on had been played on her, for Mr. Wimple the hearth-rug. Florence went towards could not have seriously asked her to her. marry him. Florence waited, not knowing what to say. But Aunt Anne's excitement seemed to be passing, and with a tender, pitiful expression on her face, she waited for her niece to speak. "But, Aunt Anne, dear," was all Florence could say again in her bewilderment. "Have you been anywhere by train?" she asked. "No, my love. I went to the station to meet some one." She trembled with excitement while she spoke. Florence noticed it with wonder. "What is it, Aunt Anne?" she asked gently. The old lady stretched out her two thin hands, and suddenly dropped her head for a moment on Florence's shoulder; but she raised it quickly, and evidently struggled to be calm. "My darling," she said, "I know you will sympathize with me, I know your loving heart. I knew it the first day I saw you, when you were at Rottingdean, and stood under the pear-tree with your dear Walter" "But what, Florence?" Mrs. Baines spoke with a half-tragic, half-resentful manner. "Have you nothing more to say to me, my love? "But you are not really going to marry him, are you?" Florence asked in an incredulous voice. The old lady answered in a terribly earnest one. "Yes, Florence, I am; and never shall man have truer, more loving help-meet than I will be to him," she burst out hero |
