and looking such a perfect lady, tripped
downstairs and said, in a kind tone: 'So you have come! I am glad you
have come.' She did, Florence; those were her very words. She said: 'I
am glad you have come.' It was so refreshing to hear her, and she took
me into one of the spacious reception-rooms--oh! my dear child, a room
which ought to be yours by-and-by--and she made me sit down, and then
she told me. There have been dreadful things happening, my dear
Florence, and that wicked young man whom I took such a fancy to has
turned out to be a wolf in sheep's clothing. He broke my poor, dear,
_warm-hearted_ sister-in-law's heart."

"Now, mother, why do you talk rubbish?" said Florence. "You know Aunt
Susan is not warm-hearted."

"She has not been understood," said Mrs. Aylmer, beginning to sob. She
took a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped away her tears. "The
circumstances of her life have proved how warm her heart is," she
continued. "She adopted that young man and he played her false."

"He did not," said Florence.

"He did, Flo; he did. She wanted him to marry--to make a most suitable
match--and he refused her. Bertha told me all about it. He was in love
with some stupid, poor, plain girl, goodness knows where. Bertha said
there was no doubt of it, and he went away and broke with my poor
sister, although she loved him so much and was better than twenty
mothers to him. She had just offered him a thousand a year as
pocket-money. You will scarcely believe it, Flo, but the ungrateful
wretch gave it all up for the sake of that girl. I never heard of such a
man, and to think that I should have angled--yes, I did, dear--that you
should know him!"

"Here is your tea, mother. Can you not stop talking for a little? You
will wear yourself out."

"What a queer, stern, cold voice you have, Florence! You are not half as
interested as you used to be."

"Do drink your tea, mother."

Mrs. Aylmer was not proof against the fragrant cup. She broke a piece of
toast and put it into her mouth, she sipped her tea, but nothing could
stop her narrative.

"Soon after he left, that wicked young man," she resumed, "poor Susan
fell ill. She got worse and worse, and what apparently was only a slight
attack soon assumed serious dimensions, and there is little hope of her
life, and Bertha tells me that she has altered her will or is about to
alter it. I cannot quite make out whether it is done or whether it is
about to be done; but anyh