“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. “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 downstairs 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 turning 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 honour. 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 honour. 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 downstairs. 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 halfway 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. “Yes, dear, of course it does,” he said cheerily, giving her a kiss. “And 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 shall——”