“My darling, I came early on purpose. May I be allowed to enter, dear Florence?”
The voice was certainly Aunt Anne’s, but the tone was so joyous, so different from the woebegone one of ten days ago that it filled her hearer with amazement.
“Come in, Aunt Anne, if you like; but I am not quite ready.”
“I know that, my love. I hoped you would not be;” and Aunt Anne entered, beaming with satisfaction, beautifully dressed, her long robe trailing, her thin throat wrapped with softest white of some filmy kind, her shoes fastened with heavy bows that showed a paste diamond in them, her hands full of flowers. Florence could scarcely believe her eyes.
“Aunt Anne!” she exclaimed, and stood still looking at her.
“Yes, my love,” the old lady laughed. “Aunt Anne; and she has brought you these flowers. I thought they might adorn your room, and that they would prove how much you were in my mind, even while I was away from you. Would you gratify me by wearing one or two? I see you have a white rose there, but I am sure Walter will not mind your wearing one of his aunt’s flowers; and, my love, perhaps you will permit your maid to take the rest downstairs to arrange before the arrival of your other guests. I will myself help you to finish your toilette.”
With an air that was a command, she gave the flowers to Maria and carefully watched her out of the room. Then turning to Florence, she asked with the joyousness still in her manner, “And now, my dear, tell me if you like my dress?”
“It is quite beautiful, and so handsome.”
“My darling, I am thankful to hear you say that, for I bought it to do you honour. I was touched to get your invitation, and determined that you should not be ashamed of me. Did the housemaid tell you that she gave me Madame Celestine’s address?”
“Yes. But, Aunt Anne, I hope you bargained with her. She costs a fortune if you don’t.”