clerical gentleman kissed her who, no doubt, was Mr. Clavering, senior.  After that, another clerical gentleman, very much younger and very much slighter, shock hands with her.  He might have kissed her, too, had he been so minded, for Florence was too confused to be capable of making any exact reckoning in the matter.  He might have done so—­that is, as far as Florence was concerned.  It may be a question whether Mary Clavering would not have objected; for this clerical gentleman was the Rev. Edward Fielding, who was to become her husband in three days’ time.

“Now, Florence,” said Fanny, “come up stairs into mamma’s room and have some tea, and we’ll look at you.  Harry, you needn’t come.  You’ve had her to yourself for a long time, and can have her again in the evening.”

Florence, in this way, was taken up stairs and found herself seated by a fire, while three pairs of hands were taking from her her shawls and hat and cloak, almost before she knew where she was.

“It is so odd to have you here,” said Fanny.  “We have only one brother, so, of course, we shall make very much of you.  Isn’t she nice, mamma?”

“I’m sure she is; very nice.  But I shouldn’t have told her so before her face, if you hadn’t asked the question.”

“That’s nonsense, mamma.  You musn’t believe mamma when she pretends to be grand and sententious.  It’s only put on as a sort of company air, but we don’t mean to make company of you.”

“Pray don’t,” said Florence.

“I’m so glad you are come just at this time,” said Mary.  “I think so much of having Harry’s future wife at my wedding.  I wish we were both going to be married the same day.”

“But we are not going to be married for ever so long.  Two years hence has been the shortest time named.”

“Don’t be sure of that, Florence,” said Fanny.  “We have all of us received a special commission from Harry to talk you out of that heresy; have we not, mamma?”

“I think you had better not tease Florence about that immediately on her arrival.  It’s hardly fair.”  Then, when they had drunk their tea, Florence was taken away to her own room, and before she was allowed to go down stairs she was intimate with both the girls, and had so far overcome her awe of Harry’s mother as to be able to answer her without confusion.

“Well, sir, what do you think of her?” said Harry to his father, as soon as they were alone.

“I have not had time to think much of her yet.  She seems to be very pretty.  She isn’t so tall as I thought she would be.”

“No; she’s not tall,” said Harry, in a voice of disappointment.

“I’ve no doubt we shall like her very much.  What money is she to have?”

“A hundred a year while her father lives.”

“That’s not much.”

“Much or little, it made no difference with me.  I should never have thought of marrying a girl for her money.  It’s a kind of thing that I hate.  I almost wish she was to have nothing.”