“I want to marry Mrs. Baines as much for my own sake as for hers,” and he looked at her in a manner that was almost a dismissal. It had an influence over her she could not help; almost against her will she rose, feeling that there was no excuse for prolonging the interview. “I will send Mrs. Baines to you,” she said, in despair. “Thank you, Mrs. Hibbert, if you will,” and he held open the door for her to pass out. Aunt Anne heard the drawing-room door open and Florence coming up. She waited eagerly on the top of the stairs. She wore her best dress; round her throat there was a white silk handkerchief, in her manner more than the usual nervous agitation. Glancing in at the bedroom Florence could see that she had been packing, and making ready for a journey. “Oh, Aunt Anne——” she began. “Yes, my love, I am going to town,” the old lady said, with a cold reserve in her tenderness that showed clearly she was displeased. “I cannot stay longer under your roof. You must not ask me to do so,” she went on. “I was cut to the quick by your want of sympathy last night. I cannot recover from it; I could not expose myself to it again. My luggage is ready, and when I have seen my dear Alfred I shall be able to tell you the time of my departure.” “Oh, Aunt Anne, it is cruel,” Florence said, dismayed. “No, my love, it is not cruel; but I must respect myself. I would not hurt you for the world, Florence; but you have hurt me.” “I wouldn’t hurt you either for the world, but——” “Where is Mr. Wimple, my love?” the old lady asked, interrupting her niece with a long sigh. “He is downstairs; I have been talking to him.” “Yes, my love, I understand. I appreciate all your solicitude for my happiness; but you should allow those who are older and wiser than you to know what is best for themselves. I will see you again when he is gone, Florence,” and almost imperiously Mrs. Baines went downstairs. She entered the drawing-room and shut the door. Mr. Wimple was standing on the hearth-rug. She looked at him for a moment nervously, and winked solemnly as usual with her left eye. “My darling,” she said, and putting her arms round his neck she kissed his face on both sides, “my darling Alfred, are you glad to see me?” He submitted to her caress half reluctantly, then drew back a little. His manner was no warmer than it had been to Florence. “Yes, I am glad to see you,” he said, and looked at her with his eyes wide open, as if to show that he perfectly understood the position. “My darling, I have suffered terribly. Florence had no sympathy for us; she said it was an unsuitable marriage; that you had no fortune, and that I had none; as if my poverty was not hard enough to bear without being told of it. What did she say to you? Alfred, my dear one, she has not turned your love from me?” She put out her arms again as if to gather him to her, but he looked blindly past her. “Sit down,” he said, and pushed her gently on to the chair beside the peacock-screen.