“I wouldn’t add story-telling to all my other evil propensities if I were you,” said the girl demurely, as she came a little nearer, yet stood ready to spring away if Frank attempted to approach her. “It was not I who threw those leaves on the lawn, Mr. Dormer. I wouldn’t vex poor old Johnson for the world, especially just now that I want some of his best verbenas for my garden. It was you who made the litter by shaking them off in all directions. I should advise you to pick them up directly, sir.” “Come and help me then, mademoiselle.” “No, indeed, monsieur! That would be to confess myself guilty. I am going for a walk. Oh, Mr. Dormer, I saw such a lovely fern on one of the heights that overhang the river! It’s about a mile higher up, and I mean to fetch it. You’ll come, won’t you?” Frank picked up his straw hat and followed, as with her basket in hand she danced across the lawn, singing to herself, and stopping occasionally to pick the fairest buds she passed, until she had gathered a tiny bouquet for her companion’s buttonhole. “Miss Dodson says every flower has a meaning attached to it,” Florence remarked, as she fastened them in his summer coat. “Do you know what these signify?” “To me their meaning is second to the fact that they are among the last blossoms I shall have from an English garden,” Frank answered. “I think I shall take them with me to India if I can dry them nicely.” “Were you thinking of your voyage when I disturbed you?” asked Florence, coming closer to him and speaking gravely. “Why do you go? Why not stay in England?” “Simply, my dear, because my only chance of rising in the world lies in accepting this appointment. I have no friends, no interest----” He stopped himself and smiled. “But there--why trouble that little head of yours about matters you don’t understand?” “I can understand that you are going away for years, and that mamma is very sorry, and so am I, really! Papa must have friends and interest,” she added suddenly. “He could help you, I am sure. I’ll go and speak to him at once.” Dropping her basket, she was speeding away, but Frank caught and detained her. “Dear Florence--dear little girl--you must not do this. You must promise me never to ask any favors from your father for me.” “But you don’t doubt his willingness to assist you?” asked Florence, a little warmly. “Certainly I do not. Mr. Heriton has been most kind, most hospitable to me.” “Then why----” she began. He checked her with an imperious: “Hush--say no more! My pride has been galled enough of late years. Don’t let me have to take any but pleasant memories from here.”