"Yes, Malvina, we know," Ann answered sadly, "and we are so very, very grieved."
"She's clean off her head, it seems to me, and I don't know what will be the end of her—it makes me shudder to think. I thought she had turned over a new leaf and was going to be a good, steady girl, she certainly gave up betting for the time; but now she's as bad about it as she was before. She's growing reckless and takes no notice of anything mother says—but, hush, here's mother!"
The door opened to admit a pale, weary-looking woman, whose face, however, brightened with a smile at the sight of her daughter's visitors. She thanked Ann and Violet most gratefully for having come to see Malvina, and admired the beautiful, Devonshire roses.
"Malvina's so fond of flowers," she said, "you couldn't have brought her any present she would like better, Miss Ann."
Not long after that Violet and Ann said good-bye to the invalid, and followed Mrs. Medland downstairs. They lingered for a few minutes talking with her in the kitchen, then started for home. Both girls were silent at first, their minds occupied with their own thoughts, but by-and-by Ann touched Violet on the arm and whispered:—
"There is Lottie Medland looking into the window of that newspaper shop."
Violet followed the direction of Ann's gaze and recognised Lottie, who was standing on tip-toes, endeavouring to look over the shoulders of a small crowd, comprised of men and women of all ages, congregated outside the shop in question.
"She is trying to read the telegram posted up against the window," said Ann; "oh, Violet, isn't it sad?"
"Sad?" echoed Violet, in astonishment; "why?"
"Because, for certain it's a telegram about some horse race or other."