Mrs. Blunden pointed to a newspaper.
“Read to us. I have been too busy to inquire how the world goes on; and Florence never cares to know.”
Mr. Aylwinne drew forward a chair, and began glancing down the columns.
“What will you have? The court movements, the state of the funds, or the fashions?”
“Neither,” was the reply. “Let us hear the general news—the accidents, and robberies, and so on.”
He read two or three police reports, and turned over the page to find something else likely to interest her; then, starting from his seat, with his eyes riveted on the page to which he had turned, he carried it to the window, where for a few moments he stood absorbed in something that appeared possessed of some extraordinary interest to him.
Startled by his hasty movement, Florence had raised her eyes from the drawing she was overlooking. She saw him turn very pale, flush as deeply, and drop the newspaper; opening the sash, he stepped out onto the lawn, and before Mrs. Blunden missed him he had plunged into the shrubbery.
“What! Is he gone? I thought he would soon tire of reading aloud; I detest it myself. Come here, Florence, and tell me whether you think these trimmings should be pink or blue.”
Her niece obeyed so far as to cross the room and say a quiet “Yes,” and “No,” in accordance with Mrs. Blunden’s wishes. But when her aunt released her, she snatched up the newspaper and carried it to her own room.
There were two paragraphs on which his eye must have rested, for they were close together. One announced a serious accident to the daughter of Major Dawson, of 120 Park Villas, the young lady having been thrown from her horse while riding in Rotten Row. The other reported the death, at San Francisco, in a gaming house, of Lieutenant Mason, son of the late Mr. and Lady Catherine Mason, of the Brae House, Northumberland.