“Well, what say you? Shall I try and prevail upon Susan to give up her present situation—I know she is not very well satisfied with it—and come to Orwell Court?”
“No,” Mr. Aylwinne decisively replied. “I will have no one about you who can recall the hours it will be the business of my life to prevent your remembering.”
“But Susan is in every way fitted for the duties I propose her taking,” Florence persisted. “And, indeed, dear Frank, it would please me much to insure and personally overlook her comforts.”
“You shall do that. You shall amply repay every obligation you lie under to this good woman. I will settle an annuity upon her, my dearest, which will give her a competence for the rest of her life.”
“You are too generous,” Florence murmured, grateful for his kindness to her friend, yet disappointed that he would not accede to her wishes. “But I do not think Susan would accept such a gift. She has an independent spirit, and would much rather work for what she receives.”
“We must contrive to keep her in ignorance of the source from whence she derives the income,” was the answer.
“And Walter and Fred? Indeed, dear Frank, I should feel much easier about our boys if I might leave them in such excellent hands as Susan’s.”
“My dear Florence,” said Mr. Aylwinne, with increasing gravity, “you have a morbid tendency to cherish the very recollections I seek to banish. You don’t seem to see that the continual presence of Miss Denham would encourage this. Love, you must let me do as I propose in this matter.”
With a little pettishness, Florence withdrew her hand from his arm.
“And I thought my own idea such an excellent one. Can you not reconcile your pride to letting me have my own way for once?”