There was no reply—no sound to indicate that the words had been heard; and after waiting for about a quarter of an hour the two girls crossed to the door, went slowly out, and found that they had had an audience in the shape of Valentine Vidler and his wife, who had been seated upon the stairs.
“Thank you, my dears,” said Salome, nodding and smiling. “We like to hear you sing. You have made a very long stay to-day, and his lunch is quite ready.”
The sisters were too heartsore to trust themselves to say much, and Vidler opened the door for them, admitting as little light as he could by closing it directly and going to assist his wife.
“Renée,” said Gertrude as they reached the square, “do you remember what Uncle Robert said?”
“Yes. He could not help us—we must help ourselves.”
“Then”—There was a pause.
“Yes, dear, what?”
“I’m sure mamma is planning for me to marry Lord Henry Moorpark.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“And I’m sure, Ren dear, he’s a dear, amiable, nice old man; but if he proposes I never will say ‘Yes’.”