There was a tone of careless unconcern in this remark that struck discordantly on Molly's ear. There was gravity in her voice as she suggested—
"Couldn't you do something for her?"
Muriel looked surprised at the idea, and raised her eyes to the speaker's face to read its expression.
"I daresay you think me unfeeling," she said, "but Mrs. Jones often gets bad headaches, and I'm afraid I'm not sorry, because I don't like to have her always trotting about after me. However, if you don't mind being left here alone, I'll go and see how she is."
"I'm going in myself now."
Molly picked up her crutches, and together she and Muriel returned to Alma Terrace.
"Please tell Marigold not to forget her promise to go fishing with me this evening after tea," Muriel said, as the lame girl turned into the gateway of No. 8, and Molly nodded smilingly in reply.
A minute or two later Muriel entered the sitting-room of No. 5, stepping lightly, so as not to disturb Mrs. Jones. She stopped on the threshold in amazement, for Mrs. Jones was not there; instead, her father was seated, reading a newspaper, by the open window.
"Father!" Muriel cried in surprise. "Why, I thought you had gone abroad!"
Mr. Wake—a handsome, middle-aged man, with rather a formal manner—put down his newspaper at the sound of his little daughter's voice, and turned to her with a smile. She went up to him and gave him a kiss; and then he held her at arm's length and regarded her earnestly.