“I suppose his inclinations did not prompt him to do so.” “He seems to have no one belonging to him.” “There are hardly any left,” she answered, with a sigh, “and unhappily he does not appreciate the companionship of those——” “Aunt Anne, dear Aunt Anne,” Florence said, “do come in, you will catch your death of cold.” “My love, the carriage is waiting and you must excuse me; it is growing late. It has been delightful to be with you, and to meet your friends.” She shook hands with Mr. Fisher, and bowed to Ethel Dunlop; then she went slowly out of the room on Walter’s arm, the long train of Madame Celestine’s dress sweeping behind her. “Good-night, Mrs. Hibbert,” Mr. Wimple said, and, shaking hands quickly with the air of a man who has many engagements and suddenly remembered one that must be instantly kept, he too was gone. He was just in time to reach the carriage door. “Mrs. Baines,” he said, “I think you said you were going to South Kensington—could you take me as far as Queen’s Gate?” “I wonder where he is going,” Walter said to himself as he went upstairs again; “I don’t believe he knows a soul in Queen’s Gate.” [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER V. Walter was going to India for the winter. It had all been arranged while Aunt Anne sat out on the balcony with Mr. Wimple. Mr. Fisher had explained to Florence that the paper wanted a new correspondent for a time, and that it would be an excellent thing for Walter to get the change and movement of the new life. He was to go out by P. and O., making a short stay at Gibraltar, for business purposes, as well as one at Malta. He had looked anxiously enough at his wife when they were alone again that evening; but she had put out her hands as if in congratulation. “I am very glad,” was all she said, “it will do you good and make you strong.” “To live for you and the chicks, my sweet.” And so they arranged the getting ready; for he was to start by the very next boat, and that sailed in ten days’ time. “If your mother had been in England you might have gone with me as far as Gib,” Walter remarked. “I suppose you would be afraid to leave the servants in charge?” “I should like to go,” she answered, as she poured out the coffee—it was breakfast time—“but I couldn’t leave the children.” “By Jove,” Walter exclaimed, not heeding her answer, “there’s Aunt Anne in a hansom! I say, Floggie dear, let me escape. What on earth does she mean by coming at this hour of the morning? Say I’m not down yet, and shall be at least three hours before I am; but keep the breakfast hot somehow.” “Couldn’t you see her?” “No, no, she would want to weep over me if she heard that I was going, and I know I should laugh. Manage to get rid of her soon.” And he flew upstairs as the street door was opened. “My dear Florence,” Mrs. Baines said, as she walked in with a long footstep and a truly tragic air, “let me put my arms round you, my poor darling.”