The old lady was not appeased.
“You know—you remember what you felt yourself when your Walter first loved you, Florence,” she said distantly. “Yes, I must be alone; my heart is full—I must be alone.”
Florence led her upstairs to her room. Mrs. Baines stood formally in the doorway.
“Good-night, my love,” she said, with cold disappointment in her voice.
“May not I help you, Aunt Anne?” Florence asked, almost entreatingly.
“No, my love, I must be alone,” Mrs. Baines repeated firmly, and shut the door.
