“I don’t think I am very strong-nerved just now,” Florence replied, trying to speak cheerfully. “Suppose we waive any further discussion of your wishes for a day or two. And, dear Aunt Margaret, do try to remember that whatever papa may have done, to me he was a dear and fondly loved parent. If you had heard him bless me ere he died, or listened to his regrets that he could not see you once more and awake your protection for his child, you would not cherish such unkind recollections.”
Mrs. Blunden melted directly.
“I’m a very unfeeling, unchristianly old woman, my dear, to speak in such terms of my only brother. Poor, dear Richard! whom I remember the handsomest and most-popular man in Northumberland. Kiss me, and forgive me, Florence. I’ll never say such cruel things again, and you shall keep your name. It’s one of the oldest in England. There is not a more ancient or honorable family anywhere than the Heritons, let who will say to the contrary.”
Florence gave her impulsive relative the kiss she asked, and then inquired what Mrs. Blunden’s arrangements were, and when she proposed that they should take their departure from Orwell Court.
“Oh, my dear, I’ve come for a month at least! You need not look so surprised. I promised Mr. Aylwinne that my first visit in England should be to him, and so here I am. I have seen him while you were sleeping, and he has pressed me to stay as long as I feel comfortable.”
“I thought we should have gone away at once,” said Florence, to whose heart these weeks of close intimacy with Mr. Aylwinne would be a greater trial than an immediate parting.
“Why? Where do you wish to go?” Mrs. Blunden asked sharply.
“Anywhere you please; I have no choice.”
“Then why do you wish to hurry me away from here? Unless, indeed, you have not been well used. Tell me, child, has Mr. Aylwinne treated you ill in any way?” And the lady’s color began to rise and her eyes to sparkle defiantly.
“No, aunt—no; he has been most kind—most considerate!” was the answer, given with a sigh.