Aunt Anne hesitated a moment; she winked again in an absent unconscious manner, and then answered with great solemnity:
“I have accepted a post at South Kensington as chaperon to a young married lady whose husband is abroad. She has a young sister staying with her, and her husband does not approve of their being alone without some older person to protect them.”
“It is very brave of you to go out into the world now,” Florence said admiringly.
“My dear, it would be most repugnant to me to be a burden to any one, even to those who love me best; that is why—why I did it, Florence.”
“And are they kind to you? do they treat you quite properly?” Mrs. Hibbert inquired anxiously.
The old lady drew herself up and answered severely:
“I should not stay with them an hour if they ever forgot what was due to me. They treat me with the greatest respect.”
“But why have you been obliged to do this, you poor Aunt Anne? Had Mr. Baines no money to leave you?”
Aunt Anne’s mouth twitched as she heard the “Mr. Baines,” but Florence had never thought of him as anything else, and when the two last words slipped out she felt it would be better to go on and not to notice her mistake.
“No, my love, at his death his income ceased; there was barely enough for immediate expenses, and then—and then I had to go out into the world.”