“My love, I only go to your parties,” she said; “there are no others in the world that would tempt me.” “Can you come to me for five minutes before you start? I won’t keep you longer.” “Yes, with pleasure,” Aunt Anne answered; “but it must only be for five minutes, if you will excuse me for saying so, for I have an appointment that I should deeply regret not being able to keep.” Florence led the old lady to an easy-chair and shut the door. Then she knelt down by her side, saying humbly but with a voice full of joy, for she was delighted at what she was going to do—if Aunt Anne would only let her do it. “I want to tell you that—that I had a letter from my mother this morning.” “I know, my love. I hope she is well, and that you have no anxiety about her.” “Oh no.” “She must long to see you, Florence dear.” “She does; she is such a dear mother, and she is coming to England in two or three weeks’ time.” “Her society will be a great solace to you.” “Yes; but what I wanted to tell you is that she has sent me a present.” “I hope it is a substantial one,” Aunt Anne said, courteously. “Indeed it is.” “It rejoices me greatly to hear it, my love.” “It is money—a cheque. My mother says she sends it to cheer me up after losing Walter.” “She knew how your tender heart would miss him, my darling;” but she was watching Florence intently with a hungry look that a second self seemed trying to control. “And as I have had a present of filthy lucre, Aunt Anne, and am delighted and not too proud to take it, so I want you to have a present of filthy lucre and not to be too proud to take it; but just to have this little five-pound note because you love me and for any little odd and end on which you may find it convenient to spend it. It would be so sweet of you to let me share my present as my children shared the cream with you.” Florence bent her head and kissed the old lady’s hands as she pushed the bit of crisp paper into them. Aunt Anne was not one whit offended, it seemed for a moment as if she were going to break down and cry; but she controlled herself. “Bless you, my darling, bless you indeed. I take it in the spirit you offer it me; I know the pleasure it is to your generous heart to give, and it is equally one to mine to receive. I could not refuse any gift from you, Florence,” she said, kissing Mrs. Hibbert; and when she departed, it was with an air of having done a gracious and tender deed. But besides this, her footstep had grown lighter, there was a joyfulness in her voice and a flickering smile on her face that showed how much pleasure and relief the money had given her. “I am so glad,” Florence thought, as she noticed it; “poor old dear. I wonder if it will go to Madame Celestine, or what she will do with it. And I wonder where she is gone.” [Illustration] [Illustration] CHAPTER VII.