Florence could have cried with vexation. Instead of her aunt’s presence being a comfort to her, her feelings had been tried already more than they had been for months. But Mrs. Blunden could not be made to see this. The only hope was that, as she had relieved herself by saying all she thought upon the painful subject, she would now be contented to let it rest.
Mr. Aylwinne came back no more that night, sending an apology for his absence, which was graciously received; and Florence, with aching head and troubled mind, played chess with Mrs. Blunden till the latter grew out of patience with her careless moves, and proposed that they should go to bed.
After this first day Aunt Margaret proved more agreeable and manageable than her niece had anticipated. Mrs. Wilson, to whom her activity and decision were something remarkable, deferred to her visitor continually, and Mrs. Blunden, always pleased to be made of consequence, arranged her store closet for her, set her books in order, and advised and directed with a brisk precision that the poor, little, nervous housekeeper thought wonderful.
Mrs. Blunden liked children—that is, boys; girls were too quiet in their habits to please her. Before she had been at Orwell Court three days she had made the acquaintance of all Walter’s and Fred’s schoolfellows, and organized cricket and running matches, and archery meetings, at which she presided in state, and gave prizes to the winners. The sight of her cheerful face and portly figure was hailed with delight at the vicarage, where she soon made herself quite at home both with Mr. Lumley and the prim little lady, his only sister, who resided with him. She even penetrated the secret of Miss Lumley’s sober looks, and learned that she was losing hope and youth in the suspense of a long engagement to a curate too poor to marry. Mrs. Blunden immediately set all her energies to work to procure this young man a living, and, by dint of indefatigable efforts, was successful.
Every one’s services at Orwell Court were then enlisted in the preparation of a simple trousseau for the grateful bride, Aunt Margaret deprecating any further delays.
Mr. Aylwinne, whose purse was at her command, would sometimes come into the room where the cutting out and contriving were going on at one table, while Florence and her pupils studied at another. He would stand by, watching them all with looks which never brightened into a smile, save when Mrs. Blunden addressed him, and then Florence could see that it was but a forced attempt to appear gay.
“How is it? You are the only idler among us,” Mrs. Blunden said to him laughingly, one day, as he stood beside her.
“Because you never take interest enough in me to give me occupation,” he retorted.
With another jest, she offered him her scissors; but he declined them.
“No, I will not expose my ignorance of female arts and sciences. But if there is anything I can do, you may command me.”