“Ah, no!” she faltered. “Give me time—a little time!”
“For what?” he demanded, with the earnest gravity that would have a reply. “For what? Is it for appearance sake? Or because you are not sure that your heart is in my keeping?”
“If you knew——” Florence began, almost indignant at the implied doubt, then paused. “But no; I will tell you nothing more. You ought to know that I am incapable of playing the coquette.”
He took both her hands in his, and drawing her to him, kissed her fervently. But at the same moment he breathed so deep a sigh that Florence, as soon as she was released, stole away in the dark to her own room, trembling with some inexplicable fear. What could it mean? What was this cloud that not even the assurance of her love had banished from his brow?
CHAPTER XX.
NOT QUITE HAPPY.
Mrs. Blunden looked volumes at the heavy eyes with which her niece appeared at the breakfast table on the following morning; nor did the tender solicitude of Mr. Aylwinne’s manner, as he rose to give Florence a chair, and hovered about her till rewarded with a blush and smile, escape her notice. She had scarcely patience to sit still till the meal was ended; and as soon as she had found a pretext for getting rid of Mrs. Wilson and the boys, she began to query sharply:
“What’s all this, Mr. Aylwinne—Florence—what’s all this?”
In much confusion Florence played with her teaspoon without any attempt to reply; but her lover’s answer was prompt and decided:
“It means, Aunt Margaret, that I have asked and obtained a boon, subject, of course, to your approval. Will you give me your Florence?”