From this time she imitated his reserve. If he was cold, she was still colder; if he relaxed sufficiently to propose anything for her pleasure, she was either deaf to the suggestion, or with curt thanks refused to avail herself of it. She rigidly adhered to her duties as governess to his wards, and with proud humility accepted the stipulated payment for her services; but when Walter and Fred, in a little speech taught them for the occasion, begged her acceptance of a desk far too elegant to have been purchased with their pocket money, the gift was steadily refused. Mr. Aylwinne was piqued, though he said nothing, and for some days looked more somber than ever. It was soon after this that Walter, who progressed admirably under Mr. Lumley’s tuition, began Euclid, and was dreadfully puzzled with the dry problems, which his young head refused to retain. Pitying the boy, who was really anxious to master his work, Florence nightly went over it with him, and together they succeeded in conquering many of the early difficulties he encountered. But one evening, after long study, they were both nonplused, and Walter fell from vexation into despair. Laying his head on the book, he began to sob: “I shall never, never understand it! It’s horrible stuff! You see, you can’t make anything of it, Donna, and the boys will all laugh at me, and Mr. Lumley will be so cross!” Mrs. Wilson put down her knitting and spectacles with a pitying “Dear me!” and trotted away to the storeroom for some almonds and raisins to console the weeper, but Fred exclaimed: “What, blubbering! Oh, Wal, you are a big baby!” and then subsided again into the agreeable study of “Robinson Crusoe.” The angry Walter aimed a blow at him, which he ducked and evaded; and Florence glanced uncertainly in the direction of Mr. Aylwinne, half inclined to bid the boy ask his assistance. She met his eye gazing fully at her, and ere she could speak he queried: “Well, what do you want me to do?” Instead of replying, she turned to Walter. “Go to Mr. Aylwinne--he will explain what it is that puzzles you so much.” The boy started up joyfully, but his guardian’s next words checked his approach. “I did not say so. I think the weakness of character that sits down and laments over a difficulty, instead of trying to overcome it, deserves no encouragement. But if Miss Heriton asks this as a favor to herself I will do it.” This Florence would not do. Drawing the book toward her, she began to study it more determinately than ever. Mr. Aylwinne watched her in silence for a few minutes, and then said: “Will you accept nothing at my hands, Miss Heriton?” “It is Walter, sir, who needs your help--not I.” “So be it, then,” he said, with a half sigh. “I had no business to be so overofficious. Come here, youngster!” With alacrity, Walter obeyed, and put the book into his guardian’s hand.