Frank picked up his straw hat and followed, as with her basket in hand she danced across the lawn, singing to herself, and stopping occasionally to pick the fairest buds she passed, until she had gathered a tiny bouquet for her companion’s buttonhole.
“Miss Dodson says every flower has a meaning attached to it,” Florence remarked, as she fastened them in his summer coat. “Do you know what these signify?”
“To me their meaning is second to the fact that they are among the last blossoms I shall have from an English garden,” Frank answered. “I think I shall take them with me to India if I can dry them nicely.”
“Were you thinking of your voyage when I disturbed you?” asked Florence, coming closer to him and speaking gravely. “Why do you go? Why not stay in England?”
“Simply, my dear, because my only chance of rising in the world lies in accepting this appointment. I have no friends, no interest——” He stopped himself and smiled. “But there—why trouble that little head of yours about matters you don’t understand?”
“I can understand that you are going away for years, and that mamma is very sorry, and so am I, really! Papa must have friends and interest,” she added suddenly. “He could help you, I am sure. I’ll go and speak to him at once.”
Dropping her basket, she was speeding away, but Frank caught and detained her.
“Dear Florence—dear little girl—you must not do this. You must promise me never to ask any favors from your father for me.”
“But you don’t doubt his willingness to assist you?” asked Florence, a little warmly.
“Certainly I do not. Mr. Heriton has been most kind, most hospitable to me.”