her voice--which was synonymous
with her presence of mind, indeed they were one and the same thing--she
replied with dignity:

'Florence, my dear child, your poor Papa is peculiar at times; and to
question me about him, is to question me upon a subject which I really
do not pretend to understand. I believe I have as much influence with
your Papa as anybody has. Still, all I can say is, that he has said very
little to me; and that I have only seen him once or twice for a minute
at a time, and indeed have hardly seen him then, for his room has been
dark. I have said to your Papa, "Paul!"--that is the exact expression
I used--"Paul! why do you not take something stimulating?" Your Papa's
reply has always been, "Louisa, have the goodness to leave me. I
want nothing. I am better by myself." If I was to be put upon my oath
to-morrow, Lucretia, before a magistrate,' said Mrs Chick, 'I have no
doubt I could venture to swear to those identical words.'

Miss Tox expressed her admiration by saying, 'My Louisa is ever
methodical!'

'In short, Florence,' resumed her aunt, 'literally nothing has passed
between your poor Papa and myself, until to-day; when I mentioned to
your Papa that Sir Barnet and Lady Skettles had written exceedingly kind
notes--our sweet boy! Lady Skettles loved him like a--where's my pocket
handkerchief?'

Miss Tox produced one.

'Exceedingly kind notes, proposing that you should visit them for change
of scene. Mentioning to your Papa that I thought Miss Tox and myself
might now go home (in which he quite agreed), I inquired if he had any
objection to your accepting this invitation. He said, "No, Louisa, not
the least!"' Florence raised her tearful eye.

'At the same time, if you would prefer staying here, Florence, to paying
this visit at present, or to going home with me--'

'I should much prefer it, aunt,' was the faint rejoinder.

'Why then, child,'said Mrs Chick, 'you can. It's a strange choice, I
must say. But you always were strange. Anybody else at your time of
life, and after what has passed--my dear Miss Tox, I have lost my pocket
handkerchief again--would be glad to leave here, one would suppose.

'I should not like to feel,' said Florence, 'as if the house was
avoided. I should not like to think that the--his--the rooms upstairs
were quite empty and dreary, aunt. I would rather stay here, for the
present. Oh my brother! oh my brother!'

It was a natural emotion, not to be suppressed; and