“His hair is a beautiful brown now,” her niece answered, rather thankfully.
“Yes, my love, it is,” the old lady said, with a little glee at the young wife’s pride. “And so is yours. I think you have the prettiest hair I ever saw.” There was not a shade of flattery in her voice, so that Florence was appeased after the severe snub of a moment ago, and smoothed her plaits with much complacency. “And now, tell me when will your dear one be at home, for I long to see him?”
“He is very uncertain, Aunt Anne; I fear he has no fixed time; but I know that he will try and make one to see you when he hears that you are in town.”
“I am sure he will,” Mrs. Baines said, evidently certain that there was no doubt at all about that. “Are the dear children at home?” she inquired. “I long for a sight of them.”
“Shall I call them?”
“Yes, my love; it will do my heart good to look at them.”
Nothing loth, Florence opened the door and called upstairs:
“Monty and Catty, are you there, my beauties? I want you, my chicks.”
There was a quick patter-patter overhead, a door opened and two little voices answered both at once—
“We’ll come, mummy, we’ll come.”