The ancient cab, which contained Ellen's boxes and numerous small possessions, trundled slowly down the avenue; the girls followed it arm in arm. They made a pretty picture—both faces were bright, both pairs of eyes sparkled, their white dresses touched, and the dark, earnest, and sweet eyes of the one were many times turned with unfeigned admiration to the bewitchingly round and baby face of the other.
"She has the innocent eyes of a child of two," thought Frances. "Poor little Fluff! And yet sorrow has touched even her!"
Then her pleasant thoughts vanished, and she uttered an annoyed exclamation.
"What does Mr. Spens want? Why should he trouble my father to-day of all days?"
"What is the matter, Frances?"
"That man in the gig," said Frances. "Do you see him? Whenever he comes, there is worry; it is unlucky his appearing just when you come to us, Fluff. But never mind; why should I worry you? Let us come into the house."
At dinner that day Frances incidentally asked her father what Mr. Spens wanted.
"All the accounts are perfectly straight," she said. "What did he come about? and he stayed for some time."
The slow blood rose into the old squire's face.
"Business," he said; "a little private matter for my own ear. I like Spens; he is a capital fellow, a thorough man of business, with no humbug about him. By the way, Frances, he does not approve of our selling the fruit, and he thinks we ought to make more of the ribbon border. He says we have only got the common yellow calceolarias—he does not see a single one of the choicer kinds."