"Who is your correspondent?" asked Florence. "I don't know," said Brenda; "but I suppose it is from Mr Timmins." Then Florence somehow felt her appetite going and a coldness stealing over her. But Mrs Fortescue was in the best of spirits. "I am delighted the man has written," she said. "It was so queer of him to come down on Christmas Eve and have a long talk with you two girls and not say a word to me. Of course, you know, my darlings, that you are to me as my very own children, and there is nothing I would not do for you--" "You would keep us with you if we were as poor as church mice, for instance," said Florence, raising her eyes (they looked brown this morning) and fixing them with a saucy air on the good lady's face. "Indeed I would. I love you far beyond mere money. But what I want to say to you is this,"--Mrs Fortescue broke a piece of toast as she spoke, and her voice became a little nervous--"that whatever Mr Timmins intends to do for your future, I do trust he will not leave me out of it. I do not think it would be right of him, seeing that I have had the care of you ever since you have been both little children." "We have been most of our time at school, have we not?" said Brenda. "Yes, dear; that is quite true; but who has prepared you for your school, and who has done her utmost to make your holidays happy?" "Indeed, you have!" said Brenda, her voice full of feeling. "You have been most kind." "That is all I want you to say, Brenda. Well, what I wish is to go on being kind. You will probably go to London, and I should like to go with you. Until you marry, my dears--and alas! I fear that auspicious event will take place soon with you both,"--here she glanced at Florence, who grew quite red--"until you marry, you will need a chaperone, and who so suitable as me? If you see Mr Timmins, will you mention to him, dears, that I am more than anxious to do for you in the future what I did in the past?" "Yes, oh yes; we will be sure to say it," said Florence in a glib tone. Breakfast went on. Brenda did not attempt to open her letter. "I wonder why you don't read what the good man has said," remarked Mrs Fortescue. "He probably, to judge from the size of that letter, has given you full directions with regard to your future plans. I cannot imagine why he does not write to me." "I will read the letter, if you like," said Brenda in her gentlest voice. "Do so, dear; I should be so much obliged." Brenda opened it. There was a long foolscap sheet which, as far as Mrs Fortescue's acute vision could discern, was filled with accounts; and then there was a letter. The accounts pleased her, only she was puzzled that they had not been sent to her. Hitherto, she had always been consulted about the dear girls. The letter was very short, and when Brenda had run her eyes over it, she folded it up and put it back into its envelope, placing the accounts also there for future study.