"Is it a favour, Walter?" inquired Florence, after a moment’s hesitation, and looking anxiously in his face.
"The appointment?" returned Walter.
"Yes."
Walter would have given anything to have answered in the affirmative, but his face answered before his lips could, and Florence was too attentive to it not to understand its reply.
"I am afraid you have scarcely been a favourite with Papa," she said, timidly.
"There is no reason," replied Walter, smiling, "why I should be."
"No reason, Walter!"
"There was no reason," said Walter, understanding what she meant. "There are many people employed in the House. Between Mr. Dombey and a young man like me, there’s a wide space of separation. If I do my duty, I do what I ought, and do no more than all the rest."
Had Florence any misgiving of which she was hardly conscious: any misgiving that had sprung into an indistinct and undefined existence since that recent night when she had gone down to her father’s room: that Walter’s accidental interest in her, and early knowledge of her, might have involved him in that powerful displeasure and dislike? Had Walter any such idea, or any sudden thought that it was in her mind at that moment? Neither of them hinted at it. Neither of them spoke at all, for some short time. Susan, walking on the other side of Walter, eyed them both sharply; and certainly Miss Nipper’s thoughts travelled in that direction, and very confidently too.
"You may come back very soon," said Florence, "perhaps, Walter."
"I may come back," said Walter, "an old man, and find you an old lady. But I hope for better things."
"Papa," said Florence, after a moment, "will—will recover from his grief, and—speak more freely to me one day, perhaps; and if he should, I will tell him how much I wish to see you back again, and ask him to recall you for my sake."
There was a touching modulation in these words about her father, that Walter understood too well.
The coach being close at hand, he would have left her without speaking, for now he felt what parting was; but Florence held his hand when she was seated, and then he found there was a little packet in her own.
"Walter," she said, looking full upon him with her affectionate eyes, "like you, I hope for better things. I will pray for them, and believe that they will arrive. I made this little gift for Paul. Pray take it with my love, and do not look at it until you are gone away. And now, God bless you, Walter! never forget me. You are my brother, dear!"
He was glad that Susan Nipper came between them, or he might have left her with a sorrowful remembrance of him. He was glad too that she did not look out of the coach again, but waved the little hand to him instead, as long as he could see it.
In spite of her request, he could not help opening the packet that night when he went to bed. It was a little purse: and there was money in it.
