“But Susan is in every way fitted for the duties I propose her taking,” Florence persisted. “And, indeed, dear Frank, it would please me much to insure and personally overlook her comforts.” “You shall do that. You shall amply repay every obligation you lie under to this good woman. I will settle an annuity upon her, my dearest, which will give her a competence for the rest of her life.” “You are too generous,” Florence murmured, grateful for his kindness to her friend, yet disappointed that he would not accede to her wishes. “But I do not think Susan would accept such a gift. She has an independent spirit, and would much rather work for what she receives.” “We must contrive to keep her in ignorance of the source from whence she derives the income,” was the answer. “And Walter and Fred? Indeed, dear Frank, I should feel much easier about our boys if I might leave them in such excellent hands as Susan’s.” “My dear Florence,” said Mr. Aylwinne, with increasing gravity, “you have a morbid tendency to cherish the very recollections I seek to banish. You don’t seem to see that the continual presence of Miss Denham would encourage this. Love, you must let me do as I propose in this matter.” With a little pettishness, Florence withdrew her hand from his arm. “And I thought my own idea such an excellent one. Can you not reconcile your pride to letting me have my own way for once?” “You shall have it, not once, but always, in everything, except what concerns yourself,” he answered, kissing her cheek. “Now go and get your hat, and let us escape before Mrs. Blunden pounces upon you for a millinery consultation. I know it is pending, for I saw her pass the door ten minutes ago, with a huge packet of patterns and trimmings fresh from London.” Only too glad to avoid one of the long inflictions with which Aunt Margaret tried her patience but too often, Florence obeyed. It was some time, however, before she could recover her usual tone, for she felt greatly disappointed at his determination with regard to Susan Denham. He saw that she was vexed, and redoubled his usual tenderness, insensibly leading her thoughts away from the disagreeable subject. The morning, too, was a lovely one--soft and hazy with the fast-falling leaves glittering in their autumnal tints beneath a cloudless sky. Insensibly they wandered on, leaving the seaside for the deep and intricate lanes of the inland country--sometimes talking, sometimes silent; occasionally pausing and resting on a stile or bank, but always happy, for they were together; and every glance, every murmured word, spoke the fullness of their content. At last, with a start and a bewildered look around him, Mr. Aylwinne paused. “I haven’t the slightest idea where we are, have you?” Florence laughed gayly at their dilemma, for she was in equal ignorance; and not a creature was in sight, or a cottage visible where they could make inquiries. Mr. Aylwinne pulled out his watch.