“Why, I have been to Brighton, of course,” Aunt Anne answered bravely, lifting her head and looking him in the face, but there was a quaver of something like fear in her voice; “I told you I was going: I went by the omnibus.” “What did you go to Brighton for? you were there only last week.” He lowered his voice and asked again, “Who are these?” “Robert, I told you yesterday that Walter Hibbert’s name was in the visitors’ list in the paper, and that I was longing to see him and his wife,” she answered sharply, but still with dignity—it was doubtful which of the two was master—“so of course I went off this morning to fetch them. I knew how glad you would be to see them.” Mr. Baines gave a grunt. The maid, laying the cloth in the whitewashed sitting-room, stopped clattering the forks and spoons to hear what was going on and to look through the open window. Aunt Anne noticed it in a moment, and turning round said sternly— “Emma, proceed with your work. I told you,” she went on, again speaking to her husband, “that these dear children were at Brighton. I have brought them back, Robert, to introduce them to you. They have been looking forward to it.” He gave another grunt, and shook his awkward shoulders in what was meant to be a civil manner. “Oh, that’s it,” he said; “well, you had better come in and have something to eat.” And he led the way into the cottage. Aunt Anne entirely recovered herself the moment she was under her own roof. “He is so forgetful,” she said softly, “but he has really been longing to see you;” and she touched his arm: “I told them how glad you would be to see them, Robert,” she said appealingly, as if she felt quite certain that he would remember his gladness in a moment or two, and wondered if it was yet flowing into his heart. “Dear Florence, you must ask him to show you his botanical specimens; he has a wonderful collection.” “We will,” said Walter, good-humouredly. “And now you must excuse me for a few minutes, dears. I know how much your uncle will enjoy a talk with you;” and, to the dismay of the Hibberts, Aunt Anne vanished, leaving them alone with the brown man. Mr. Baines sat slowly down on the arm-chair, the only really comfortable one in the room, and stretched out his left leg in a manner that showed it was stiff. Then he looked at his visitors grimly, yet with a suggestion of odd amusement on his face, as if he knew perfectly how embarrassed they felt. “Sit down, Mrs. Hibbert,” he said, nodding towards an ordinary chair, and including Walter in the nod. “I dare say you’ll be glad of your food before you look at specimens. I shall,” and he gave a lumbering laugh. “I have done a hard morning’s work.” “I am sure you must be very tired,” Florence said politely, wishing Aunt Anne would return.