Aunt Anne, Volume 1 by W.K. Clifford — Read

Then it was that Florence discovered that Aunt Anne was really a charming person to have in the house, especially with children. She was so bright, so clever with them, so full of little surprises. In her pocket there always lingered some unexpected little present, and at the tip of her tongue some quaint bit of old-world knowledge that was as interesting to grown-up folk as to the children. To see her prim figure about the place seemed to Florence like having lavender among her linen. She was useful too, ready with her fingers to darn some little place in a tablecloth that every one else had overlooked, to sew a button on Monty's little shoe, or to mend a tear in Catty's pinafore. Above all, she was so complimentary, so full of admiration, and it was quite evident that she meant with her whole heart all the pretty things she said. She did too. Walter was the son of her favourite brother, and to Florence she had really taken a fancy from the beginning.

"I loved you from the first moment, my love," she said. "I shall never forget the look of happiness on your face that morning at Brighton when I met you and your dear Walter together. It endeared you to me. It was a happy day," she added, with a sigh.