“No, my dear, no; but thank you and bless you for your tender heart. There is nothing I want. I wish you could see Mrs. North, Florence, she is kindness itself. I have been in the house five weeks, and they have never once failed to show me the attention that is due to me,” she said, with grave dignity. “We went to Covent Garden Theatre last night—I refused to go to Drury Lane, for I did not approve of the name of the piece—they insisted on giving me the best place, and were most anxious when we reached home for fear I had taken cold whilst waiting for the carriage.”
It seemed as if Aunt Anne had been extraordinarily lucky.
“And you like being with young people, I think,” Florence said, noticing how her sad face lighted up while she spoke of the theatre.
“It is always a pleasure to me to witness happiness in others,” Aunt Anne answered, with a long benevolent sigh, “and it is a comfort to know that to this beautiful girl—for Mrs. North is only four-and-twenty, my dear—my presence is beneficial and my experience of life useful. I wish you would come and call on her.”
“But she might not like it? I don’t see why she should desire my acquaintance.”
“She would think it the greatest honour to know anybody belonging to me.”
“Is she an old friend, Aunt Anne, or how did you know her?” Florence asked, wondering at the great kindness extended to the old lady, and whether there was a deep foundation for it. She did not think it likely, from all that she had heard, that companions were generally treated with so much consideration. For a moment Aunt Anne was silent, then she answered coldly—
“I met her through an advertisement. But you must not question me, you must not indeed, Florence; I never allowed any one to do that, and I am too old to begin; too old and feeble and worn out to allow it even from you, my love.”
“But, dear Aunt Anne, I did not mean to hurt or offend you in any way. I merely wondered, since these people were so kind to you, if they were new or old friends,” Florence said affectionately, but still a little stiffly, for now that she had been assured the old lady was so well provided for, she felt that she might defend herself.
“Then you must forgive me,” Mrs. Baines said penitently; “I know I am foolishly sensitive sometimes, but in my heart I shall never misjudge you or Walter; be assured of that, my darling.”