“We hope to keep her with us for as long as she likes to stay. My husband is so happy with her secretarial work that he dreads the time when she will not have the leisure,” Mrs. Carroll said, looking at Muriel affectionately.
“Well, it is of no use for me to remind you of your promised visit to us at Easter,” Mr. Gascoigne said, when leaving. “As things are it would only make a break, I suppose. You know you have only to come, child, when you like. Let me have a wire or a letter when your first appearance is arranged, and I will run up to applaud you. Mrs. Gascoigne sends her dearest love; she is, as you know, too much of an invalid to travel. Reginald wanted to see you very badly, but I thought I would come alone this time. You can let him have a message if—the wish should ever prove reciprocal,” he added, laughing grimly.
“Oh, I shall not do anything for a very long time yet,” the girl said, shaking her head, leaving the last sentence unanswered. “As you say, Mr. Keene is far too particular to recommend me anywhere until I am pretty certain not to disgrace his introduction.”
About a fortnight after Mrs. Carroll’s “At Home,” Muriel was sitting alone in the drawing-room one afternoon, playing some of her favourite Chopin’s nocturnes.
It had been a wet day, and Mrs. Carroll, who detested rain, had gone to her room to nurse a headache.
The servant announced Mr. Keene, and Muriel got up quickly.
“Mr. Carroll is out, and Mrs. Carroll is in her room, but I will go to her——”
“I came to see you, Miss Winstanley,” he said, quietly. “Miss D’Orsay broke down after acting last night, and the doctor says she must go abroad at once, as her chest is very delicate. Her understudy, Miss Cameron, is in great trouble, for her mother is dying. I gave her permission to go down to Bath yesterday, and I shall be sorry to have to wire to her for to-night.”
“To-night?”