Her speech had, however, set Mr. Aylwinne thinking. He was averse to leaving Walter and Fred with Mrs. Wilson as sole authority over them; for, with the kindest intentions, she was scarcely adapted for such a charge. He had asked Mr. Lumley to take them as boarders at the vicarage, but the good clergyman had lost his right hand in losing his sister, and was proposing to lessen the number of his pupils instead of increasing them.
“We must advertise for a gouvernante for the lads, and put up with her, if she does not prove a second Miss Heriton,” Mr. Aylwinne said as he discussed his wishes with Florence.
She, too, looked thoughtful for a brief interval, but then her eye lit up with pleasure.
“What will you say if I agree to find you a good, gentle woman far more capable of managing them than I have ever been?”
“Say! Why, that I will engage with her at once, leaving the terms to you,” he replied. “But who is this rara avis?”
“Her name is Denham—Susan Denham,” said Florence, a shade of pensiveness deepening upon her brow as she spoke. “I learned to know and love her at a time of great anxiety. I cannot tell you how often her sympathy and good counsel comforted me.”
Mr. Aylwinne made no reply for a few minutes. He was intently watching the downcast face of his betrothed.
“Of what period are you speaking? May I ask?”
“Of the time when we were living in West Street, Brompton,” Florence answered. “I had no other friend then but Susan Denham.”
“My poor love!” he exclaimed tenderly; then relapsed again into silence, till she cried, with more cheerfulness: