“A thousand thanks,” she answered hastily. “But, no; I must consult my friend.” And then Florence’s head went down on her hand again with a thrill of pity, as she pictured the struggles and privations Julia must have endured--nay, might now be enduring, a stranger in a strangers’ land, too proud to beseech her cousin’s assistance, unless she had been successful in obtaining the proofs of her marriage. When she looked up Mr. Aylwinne had gone. He had returned to the group on the beach; and when, warned by the increasing chilliness of the night, they came in, he still lingered on the sands with his cigar, pacing to and fro in the moonlight. Mrs. Blunden cast a searching look at her niece when she came into her room to bid her good night. “What had Mr. Aylwinne to say to you, Florence? Anything very interesting?” “No, Aunt Margaret--at least, it would not interest you. It was merely some information I had asked him to procure for me.” Mrs. Blunden’s “Oh!” was sharp and suspicious, but Florence’s was not the face of a young lady who has within the last hour accepted or rejected a suitor, and she was forced to conclude that she was mistaken. The boys were urgent on the following morning to know whether their guardian intended remaining. “You’d better, sir,” pleaded Fred, “for there’s splendid walks all round about; and if you were here we might have a boat and sail to lots of places where the Donna don’t like to trust us with only old Sam, the boatman. Do stay!” “Yes, do!” echoed Mrs. Blunden. “I don’t mind confessing that I find a house very dull when it only contains three women and some children. I begin to want amusement.” Mr. Aylwinne smiled at her frankness, while Mrs. Wilson looked shocked. “To-day, at all events, I will devote to _la Reine Marguerite_; but whether I am to continue in her suite or not must depend”--he hesitated and colored a little--“must depend on circumstances.” “And what are circumstances?” queried Mrs. Blunden. “I can’t understand a lord of the creation being governed by whim or accident, and calling himself the creature of circumstances. Why not say decidedly I do or I do not choose to stay?” “Because,” he answered, in lowered tones, “I am not just at present master of my own actions. After this candid confession you will spare me, will you not?” Mrs. Blunden shook her head, and glanced from him to Florence, as she had done more than once already. But she gained nothing by her scrutiny, for the face of her niece was turned from her, and she was listening with apparent interest to an extraordinary dream that had visited Mrs. Wilson’s slumbers. “There is something here that I can’t quite comprehend,” muttered Aunt Margaret. “I shall watch them closely, and draw my own conclusions.”