“My love, if I had thousands a year you should have them,” Aunt Anne answered, and, intent on her present-making, she went on, “and here is a little case of scissors, they are of different sizes. I know how much gentlemen”—Aunt Anne always said “gentlemen,” never “men,” as do the women of to-day—“like to find a pair suited to their requirements at the moment; I thought they might be useful to him on the voyage.” She gave a sigh of relief as though presenting her gifts had removed a load from her mind. “I suppose Walter is not down yet, my love?” “He is upstairs,” Florence said, a little guiltily, “I am afraid he will not be down just yet.” Aunt Anne gave a reflective wink, as though she perfectly understood the reason of Walter’s non-appearance; but if she did she had far too much tact to betray it. “If it be your wish, my dear, I will forego the pleasure of saying a last good-bye to him.” “Well, dear Aunt Anne, when he does come down he will have a great deal to do,” Florence answered still more guiltily, for she could not help feeling that Aunt Anne saw through the ruse. “My love, I quite understand,” Mrs. Baines said solemnly, “and he will know that it was from no lack of affection that I did not wait to see him. Tell him that he will be constantly in my thoughts;” and she slowly gathered her cashmere shawl round her shoulders, and buttoned her black kid gloves. “Poor Aunt Anne,” Florence thought when she had gone, she would wring a tragedy from every daily trial if she were encouraged. “Oh, you wicked coward,” she said to Walter, “to run away like that.” “Yes, my darling; but I am starved, and really, you know, Floggie, confound Aunt Anne.” “Oh, but she is very kind,” Florence said, as she displayed the presents. “How did Mr. Wimple know that you were going to India?” she asked. “I met him yesterday at the office. He went to see Fisher; it was arranged that he should the other night.” “It is very extraordinary his striking up a friendship with Aunt Anne.” “Yes, very extraordinary,” he laughed and then the old lady was forgotten. The days flew by and the last one came. To-morrow (Thursday) Walter was to start by an early train for Southampton. All his arrangements were complete, and on that last day he had virtually nothing to do, “therefore, Floggie dear,” he pleaded, “let us have a spree.” “Yes,” she answered, willingly enough, though her heart was heavier than his. “How shall we manage it?” “Let us stroll about all day or go to Richmond, and come back and have a cosy little dinner somewhere.” “Here,” she pleaded, “let us dine here, in our own home on this last evening; we’ll have a very nice dinner.” “Very nice indeed?” “Very nice indeed, you greedy thing.”