With some trouble Florence reconciled her pupil to the necessity of their separation, and sat by him till he fell asleep.
When she entered the drawing-room, Mrs. Wilson was absent. Her anxiety that the dinner should be perfection to the palates of her employer and his lady guest made her fidget in and out of the kitchen incessantly, until the cook was thrown into a state of desperation, and declared to her sympathizing assistants an intention of sitting down and leaving “missus” to finish the cooking herself.
Mrs. Blunden, unconscious of the turmoil her visit had created in the lower regions, was conversing with Mr. Aylwinne, and recalling some of her traveling experiences for the amusement of Walter, whose bright, intelligent face had taken her fancy. But after her niece entered, the depressed manner she could not shake off attracted her aunt’s notice; and although Florence was not near enough to hear her half-whispered remarks, she was painfully conscious that Mrs. Blunden was adverting to it. Mr. Aylwinne, too, though politeness compelled him to lend an ear, was evidently embarrassed, and anxious to change the subject. This he succeeded in doing when dinner was announced. But in the evening Mrs. Blunden fastened upon him again, and consoled herself for the silence she had promised to observe to Florence, by making him a confidant of all the vexation her poor brother’s folly had cost her.
Growing desperate at last, Florence challenged her aunt to a game at chess, as the only means of quieting her.
“Presently, love. Arrange the men, and I will be with you before you are ready.”
Walter ran to fetch the board and bring a little table closer to the center lamp, and Florence followed him to it. This brought her nearer the talkers, if Mr. Aylwinne can be so named, whose conversational efforts had been vainly directed to turning his companion’s thoughts into another channel.
Mrs. Blunden had not the delicacy to understand or appreciate this. Mr. Heriton’s speculations and losses were patent to the whole world, and she saw no reason why she should not describe her own feelings in connection with them.
“Yes,” Florence heard her say, “though the act was that foolish child’s, I’m sure, from what my solicitor has since told me, that it was at my brother’s pressing solicitations; and I know it was drawn out to put into the hands of that wicked rogue we were speaking about. Florence,” she added, in louder tones, “Florence, my dear, am I not right? Didn’t your legacy go to swell Lieutenant Mason’s gains?”
Mr. Aylwinne, who had striven to prevent the putting of the question, started up and left the room; but as he went he saw Florence redden to the temples, and heard her indignant and reproachful exclamation: “Aunt Margaret!”
“Well, my dear,” was the placid reply, “what harm have I done in alluding to this? You forget that every one knows it, and I chose Mr. Aylwinne to understand that I never gave your poor father any encouragement in his follies.”