"Did you enjoy yourself, Lizzie?"
"Yes--no," replied Lizzie, taking off her hat and mantle. "It isn't a very lively piece, and Lily was ill. Why, how pale you've turned, daddy! She was better before we left her. It was the piece made her ill, I think."
"Tell me more about it, Lizzie; she was well when she went to the theatre?"
"O yes, and we thought we were going to enjoy ourselves very much. And so we should have done if the play had been a lively one. But it was horrible. I wouldn't go to see it again for ever so much. Well, and the theatre was very hot and the last scene was so dreadful that Lily fainted. She soon recovered, and we all went to Soho in one cab."
"That was right, Lizzie."
"Yes," said Lizzie, with assumed carelessness, but watching the old man keenly, "it was my doing, that was. Mr. Sheldrake wanted to walk home with Lily, and wanted me and Alfred to start off at once in a cab from the theatre--but I wouldn't have it so. I insisted that we should all go together, and that we should drop Lily at her door. Mr. Sheldrake wasn't very pleased. To tell you the truth, daddy, I think I rather set him against me to-night. Do you mind?"
Such a concentrated look of watchfulness did she flash into his face that it would have startled him to see. But as he did not see, he could only answer her spoken words.
"No, my dear, I don't mind; but it will be as well not to quarrel with him, if you can help it."
"He would be a dangerous enemy, wouldn't he, daddy?"
"Yes, my dear; very dangerous."