Florence was glad to get away from her endless appeals, and shut herself up in the library with her own thoughts, painful though they were. The prevailing one was always this: If her suppositions were correct, and she indeed beheld in Mr. Aylwinne the Frank Dormer she had once known, it was very certain that he had no desire to court her recognition. All the romance of her nature was wounded and humiliated by this fact. Those hopes her mother’s diary had cherished must now be forgotten, and she was ready to despise herself for having believed that the thoughts of any one could be constant all these years to the girlish, unformed Florence of the priory. Her own course, she proudly told herself, was plain enough: neither by word nor look must she ever give him reason to suspect that she guessed his secret, and she would be careful to seize the first plausible pretext for throwing up a situation which she heartily regretted having accepted. As she sat at a desk, trying to fix her attention on the catalogue she was completing, she heard a little bustle in the hall, and Mrs. Wilson’s voice mingling with more youthful tones. Her pupils had arrived, but she did not go to meet them till Mr. Aylwinne was heard asking where she was. Then, half reluctant to encounter him, yet inwardly longing to have her doubts resolved, Florence put down her pen and rose. The next moment the door opened, and Mr. Aylwinne entered, leading with him two little boys. They were delicate-featured, slim children, with a strange look about their large, dark eyes not easy to define. It was as if they had suffered some great shock, which had so deeply impressed itself on their memories as to leave an abiding and unconquerable terror. Their ages were, perhaps, ten and twelve; but though their limbs were well proportioned, they had not the fearless, healthy look of English lads of the same age; and they clung to the arms of their guardian with almost girlish timidity and dependence. Florence was not so much impressed at first with the appearance of her pupils as their sex; and she kept her place, not a little vexed at her own want of thought in having neglected to make more particular inquiries concerning them. “Walter--Fred,” said Mr. Aylwinne, “this is the young lady I have been telling you about. Go and shake hands with her.” But the lads hesitated to leave his side, and Florence promptly said: “Pardon me, sir--I cannot undertake the education of boys. I supposed that your wards were little girls.” “Is it of any consequence so long as they are docile and intelligent?” asked Mr. Aylwinne, lifting his eyebrows. “Certainly it is, sir,” replied Florence, who began to feel annoyed. He saw this, and apologized gracefully for his own carelessness in not mentioning their sex before. Then, placing a portfolio of colored views before the silent boys, he came to her side.