“You have her there?”
“Yes; but I am much afraid that her talents do not lie in the way of high promotion, and I think if she does not get wages enough to satisfy her mother, she is in dread of being made to sing at public-houses and music-halls.”
“That nice refined girl!”
“Yes; I am sure the idea is dreadful to her.”
“Could you not put her in the way of getting trained?” asked Gerald of his uncle.
“I must hear her first.”
“I will bring her up to the Choral Society tonight,” said Mr. Flight.
“What did you call her?” said Geraldine.
“Some German or foreign name, Schnetterling, and the school calls her Lydia.”
At that moment the council was invaded, as it sat in Miss Mohun’s drawing-room, upon rugs and wicker chairs, to be refreshed with tea. In burst a whole army of Merrifields, headed by little Primrose, now a tall girl of twelve years old, more the pet of the family than any of her elders had been allowed to be. Her cry was—