“Why, of course we did. But you don’t deserve to see us again after leaving us alone all this long time. Where is Wimple?” “He is at Liphook,” she answered. “He is not strong, and finds the air beneficial to him.” “It was always beneficial to him,” Walter said dryly, as he sat down beside her. “He ought not to leave you alone, dear Aunt Anne; you don’t look well,” Florence said. “I am very frail, my love, but that is all. London air is never detrimental to me, as it is to Alfred. He finds that Liphook invigorates him, and he frequently goes there for two or three days; but, as our means are not adequate to defray the expenses of much travelling, I remain in town. Walter,” she asked, looking up with a touch of her old manner, “did you enjoy your visit to India? I hope you have most pleasant recollections of your journey.” “I’ll tell you what, Floggie dear,” Walter said, not answering Aunt Anne’s question, “we’ll take her back with us at once.” “Oh no, my love,” the old lady began; “it is impossible——” “How can it be impossible?” Florence said gaily; “you are evidently all alone in London; so we’ll run away with you. The children are longing to see you, and I want to show you all the things Walter brought from India. There is a little ivory elephant for you.” “It was just like him to think of me,” the old lady said, with a flicker of her former brightness; but in a moment her sadness returned, and Walter noticed that there was almost a cowed expression on her face. It went to his heart, and gave him a mighty longing to thrash Wimple. “You must come at once,” he said, putting on an authoritative manner; “then you can tell us all your news, and we will tell you all ours. There, put your arm in mine, and Florence shall go the other side to see you don’t escape.” “He is just the same. He makes me think of his dear father,” she said, as she walked between them; “and of that happy day at Brighton, years and years ago now, when I met you both on the pier. Do you remember, my dear ones?” “Of course we do!” said Walter; “and how victoriously you carried us off then, just as we are carrying you off now.” “Oh, he’s just the same,” the old lady repeated. “Here’s a four-wheeler,” he said, when they reached the Bayswater Road. “This is quite an adventure; only,” he added gently, “you don’t look up to much.” “I shall be better soon,” she said, and dropped into silence again. She looked, almost vacantly, out of the cab window as they went along, and they were afraid to ask her questions, for, instinctively, they felt that things had not gone well with her. Presently she turned to Florence. “Did you say the children were at home, my love?” “Yes, dear.” The old lady looked out again at the green trees in the Park, and almost furtively at the shops in Oxford Street. Then she turned to Florence.