“Yes. I shan’t stay here.”
“Oh! And may I ask if you have any definite idea, where you will go?”
“I’ve got an engagement as pianist, with a travelling theatrical company.”
“Oh indeed!” said the lawyer, scrutinizing her sharply. She stared away vacantly out of the window. He took to the attentive study of his finger-nails once more. “And at a sufficient salary?”
“Quite sufficient, thank you,” said Alvina.
“Oh! Well! Well now!—” He fidgetted a little. “You see, we are all old neighbours and connected with your father for many years. We—that is the persons interested, and myself—would not like to think that you were driven out of Woodhouse—er—er—destitute. If—er—we could come to some composition—make some arrangement that would be agreeable to you, and would, in some measure, secure you a means of livelihood—”
He watched Alvina with sharp blue eyes. Alvina looked back at him, still vacantly.
“No—thanks awfully!” she said. “But don’t bother. I’m going away.”
“With the travelling theatrical company?”
“Yes.”