"Miss Mountjoy, I have come to you with a message from your aunt." This was said, three or four days after the conversation between Florence and her mother, by Mr. Anderson, who had contrived to follow the young lady into a small drawing-room after luncheon. What was the nature of the message it is not necessary for us to know. We may be sure that it had been manufactured by Mr. Anderson for the occasion. He had looked about and spied, and had discovered that Miss Mountjoy was alone in the little room. And in thus spying we consider him to have been perfectly justified. His business at the moment was that of making love, a business which is allowed to override all other considerations. Even the making an office copy of a report made by Mr. Blow for the signature of Sir Magnus might, according to our view of life, have been properly laid aside for such a purpose. When a young man has it in him to make love to a young lady, and is earnest in his intention, no duty, however paramount, should be held as a restraint. Such was Mr. Anderson's intention at the present moment; and therefore we think that he was justified in concocting a message from Lady Mountjoy. The business of love-making warrants any concoction to which the lover may resort. "But oh, Miss Mountjoy, I am so glad to have a moment in which I can find you alone!" It must be understood that the amorous young gentleman had not yet been acquainted with the young lady for quite a fortnight. "I was just about to go up-stairs to my mother," said Florence, rising to leave the room. "Oh, bother your mother! I beg her pardon and yours;--I really didn't mean it. There is such a lot of chaff going on in that outer room, that a fellow falls into the way of it whether he likes it or no." "My mother won't mind it at all; but I really must go." "Oh no. I am sure you can wait for five minutes. I don't want to keep you for more than five minutes. But it is so hard for a fellow to get an opportunity to say a few words." "What words can you want to say to me, Mr. Anderson?" This she said with a look of great surprise, as though utterly unable to imagine what was to follow. "Well, I did hope that you might have some idea of what my feelings are." "Not in the least." "Haven't you, now? I suppose I am bound to believe you, though I doubt whether I quite do. Pray excuse me for saying this, but it is best to be open." Florence felt that he ought to be excused for doubting her, as she did know very well what was coming. "I--I--Come, then; I love you! If I were to go on beating about the bush for twelve months I could only come to the same conclusion." "Perhaps you might then have considered it better." "Not in the least. Fancy considering such a thing as that for twelve months before you speak of it! I couldn't do it,--not for twelve days." "So I perceive, Mr. Anderson."