"You are so restless, my dear," said that lady. "Why can't you stay in your bed of a morning, and then come down at a Christian-like hour?" "Nine o'clock, aunt dear," said the girl, smiling. "Well, say a quarter to, my dear, because that gives ample time to ring for the urn and make the tea, though nine is really a very nice hour. It is not right for a young lady to be racing downstairs before seven o'clock and dusting; and I do not really like for you to be going out for walks at such early hours." "London is at its best before breakfast, aunt; everything looks so fresh and bright." "What nonsense, my dear! Nothing of the kind. The steps are not cleaned, and there is nobody about but sweeps and dustmen, and milk carts." "Oh yes, aunt dear," cried Laura, merrily. "London is very busy then, and I wish I could get you to come. Covent Garden is lovely quite early with the flowers and fruit." "My dear Laura, to hear you talk anyone would think your poor dear papa had been a greengrocer. Pray, do, my dear, try and give up the bad habit. I really don't know what Isabel must think." But the habit only grew stronger, and on the morning after her brother's sudden call, Laura slipped out while cook was cleaning the steps and went off to Covent Garden to return with a bunch of roses and a basket of strawberries which had been picked that morning nine miles down the western road. The breakfast was ready, and she was giving the last touches to her arrangement of flowers and fruit upon the table when Isabel joined her, looking as fresh as the flowers in the little shallow bowl. "Oh, Laury, I am so ashamed at being so late," she cried, after an affectionate kiss had been exchanged. "I was afraid I was last." "Oh no, dear; auntie is not down," said Laura, glancing at the clock. "She'll be ten minutes yet." "Is she always so punctual?" "Yes. She does not leave her room till the church clock begins to strike. She is very proud of being so exact." "Is--is--" "Fred down? No, dear. There! don't blush, goosey. I expect he was kept late last night, and he loses so much rest, that we never disturb him. He has his breakfast at all sorts of times, but it will be at nine this morning." This was accompanied by an arch look. "Oh, how sweet the flowers are!" cried Isabel, turning away to hide the heightened colour in her cheeks. "Yes, dear," said Laura, banteringly, "and life now is all roses and sweets, and the sky was never so blue, and the London sparrows' `chiswick, chiswick' sounds like the song of nightingales, doesn't it? Heigho! I wish I were in love, and someone loved me, and put his arm round my waist and took me for walks along the primrose path of dalliance." There was a light step behind her, two arms were passed about her waist, a soft, white chin rested upon her shoulder, and a rounded cheek was pressed to hers.