“Not this moment. Go on, Lord Yorkshire.”
“That is a good deal already. And he will take him as a pupil, he says. He has not consented to take a pupil for years. Now we have to consult—— How is that to be managed?”
Helen’s face fell for a moment.
“It must be managed,” she said. “I will write to father to-morrow, telling him all that has happened. You must write, too; Lady Sunningdale must write. Poor father! We must give him no peace till he lets Martin study. What are we to do?”
“You must think it over, and tell me if I can be of any use,” said he. “I am entirely at your disposition. Anyhow, there is a fortnight for him in London. And you? You came up to-day, did you not? Ah, before I forget. Lady Sunningdale is coming to my box at the opera to-morrow night. Please come, too. She, Martin, you, I. Just we four.”
Those last three words gave him extraordinary pleasure.
“But are you sure you have room for me?” asked Helen. “Lady Sunningdale is so kind: she is dumping me at all her friends’ houses, upsetting their dinner-tables right and left, and there is no earthly reason to suppose they want me.”
“I want you,” said Frank, simply, and again the words pleased him.
“Thank you, very much. Where is she, by the way? Will you take me to her? She probably wants to go home. I see people are leaving.”
“It is conceivable she is having supper,” said Frank, gravely. “Let us go and see.”