fair for his large dark eyes, came bounding up the broad stair, to
the embrace of the aunt who stood at the top, a little lame lady
supported by an ivory-headed staff. Her deep blue eyes, dark
eyebrows, and sweet though piquant face were framed by the straight
crape line of widowhood, whence a soft white veil hung on her
shoulders.

"Cherie sweet! You are well? And the Vicar?"

"Getting on. How are they all at Vale Leston?"

"All right. Your mother got to church on Easter-day." This was to
Anna Vanderkist, a young person of the plump partridge order, and
fair, rosy countenance ever ready for smiles and laughter.

"Here are no end of flowers," as the butler brought a hamper.

"Daffodils! Oh!-—and anemones! How delicious! I must take Clement
a bunch of those dear white violets. I know where they came from,"
and she held them to her lips. "Some primroses too, I hope."

"A few; but the main body, tied up in tight bunches like
cauliflowers, I dropped at Kensington Palace Gardens."

"A yellow primrose is much more than a yellow primrose at present,"
said Mrs. Grinstead, picking out the few spared from political
purposes. "Clement will want his button-hole, to greet Lance."

"So he is advanced to button-holes! And Lance?"