“Of course I am sorry he is away,” Mrs. North said, as if she perfectly understood the impression she was making; “he is coming back now. He has telegraphed suddenly.” There was something like fright in her voice as she said it. “I did not expect him; but he is coming almost directly. I suppose I ought to be very glad,” she added, with a ghostly smile. “I am, of course; but I am surprised at his sudden return. I took Mrs. Baines because he wished me to have an old lady about me; but I wanted my own way. I liked her to have hers when it amused me to see her have it, when it didn’t I wanted to have mine.” Mrs. North’s whole expression had altered again, and she looked up with two blue eyes that fascinated and repelled, and laughed a merry, uncontrolled laugh like a child’s. “Oh, she was very droll.” “Perhaps it is very rude of me to say it,” Florence said primly, for deep in her heart there was a great deal of primness, “but I can understand Mr. North wishing you to have a chaperon; you are very young to be left alone.” “Oh yes, and very careless, I know that. And Mrs. Baines used to provoke me into shocking her. I could shock her so easily, and did—don’t you know how one loves power for good or ill over a human being?” “No, I don’t,” Florence answered, a little stiffly. “I do; I love it best of all things in the world, whether it leads me uphill or downhill. But I am intruding,” for she saw a set cold look coming over Florence’s face. “Let me tell you why I asked for you. I have been so embarrassed about Mrs. Baines. She gave us presents, and she bought all sorts of things: but she didn’t pay for them. These bills came, and the people wanted their money.” She pulled a little roll out of her pocket. “She probably forgot them, and I thought it would be better to pay them, especially as I owed her some money when she left which she would not take;” and she laughed out again, but there was the odd sound like fright in her voice. “They are from florists and all sorts of people.” Florence looked over the bills quickly and almost guiltily. There were the pots of fern and the flowers that had been sent to her and the children after Aunt Anne’s first visit; and there were the roses with which she had triumphantly entered on the night of the dinner-party. “Oh, poor old lady!” she exclaimed sadly.