“You dear children,” the old lady said, “I must go; but I shall not forget you, and to-night when you look under your pillows you will find some chocolates as usual. I have put them there ready for you, so that some day you might remember that, even in the midst of her own happiness, Aunt Anne thought of you.” She said the last words almost mechanically, while with one eye she watched her trunks being carried out, and with the other looked at the children. Suddenly she turned to Florence. “I should like to wish you good-bye alone; there is something I want to say to you.” She turned quickly and entered the drawing-room. The fire had burnt low, the room had grown chilly, and Florence shivered a little as she stood waiting for Aunt Anne to speak. “My dear,” the old lady said, “will you try not to think me ungrateful for all your care of me, for all your solicitude for my happiness? I know you think that I am in my dotage——” “Oh no——” “—That I am doing a foolish thing in marrying a man so much younger than myself, that——” “You must do as you like, Aunt Anne; it is a free country, and we can all do as we like.” “Yes, my love,” Mrs. Baines answered with a sudden wink, which showed that this was a new bit of argument to her, and one that she would try to use to her own advantage if she had the opportunity; “we can all do as we like, as you did when you married your dear Walter, as I shall when I marry Alfred Wimple, for, as you say, it is a free country.” “I only hope that you may be happy,” Florence said earnestly.