“Not Mama yet,” returned the lady, with a serious smile, as she encircled Florence’s neck with her arm.
“But very soon to be,” cried Florence.
“Very soon now, Florence: very soon.”
Edith bent her head a little, so as to press the blooming cheek of Florence against her own, and for some few moments remained thus silent. There was something so very tender in her manner, that Florence was even more sensible of it than on the first occasion of their meeting.
She led Florence to a chair beside her, and sat down: Florence looking in her face, quite wondering at its beauty, and willingly leaving her hand in hers.
“Have you been alone, Florence, since I was here last?”
“Oh yes!” smiled Florence, hastily.
She hesitated and cast down her eyes; for her new Mama was very earnest in her look, and the look was intently and thoughtfully fixed upon her face.
“I—I—am used to be alone,” said Florence. “I don’t mind it at all. Di and I pass whole days together, sometimes.” Florence might have said, whole weeks and months.
“Is Di your maid, love?”