It was a ticket for a concert in one of the suburbs of London. Lydia kept it in an envelope, and handled it with care. Mrs. Poole, before taking it, wiped her hands on her apron, and then held the card between the tips of her thumb and middle finger.
'Will her name be on the programme?' she asked.
'No. They're called Mr. Redfern's choir, that's all.'
'Well, I'm sure it's very nice, and something to be proud of. And she still keeps her health?'
'She says she is very well indeed.'
'Mrs. Poole,' added Lydia, lowering her voice, 'you haven't said anything about it?'
'No, no, my dear; not I.'
'It's better not, I think. Of course it doesn't really matter, but still——'
'Bless you, I understand very well, Lydia. There's no occasion to talk about such things at all. I suppose Mary Bower knows?'
'Oh yes, I told Mary.'