“Not a well-informed young man, my dear,” said Mr Trampleasure to his wife; whereupon that lady looked at him, and Mr Trampleasure seemed to wither away, or rather to shrink into a corner, where Millicent, who looked slightly flushed, but very quiet and self-possessed, was turning over some music, every piece of which had a strip of ribbon sewn with many stitches all up its back.
“Not a well-informed young man, this new curate, Millicent,” said Mr Trampleasure, trying to sow his discordant seed on more genial soil.
“Not well-informed, uncle?” said the daughter of the house, looking up wide-eyed and amused, “why, I thought him most interesting.”
“Oh! dear me, no, my dear. Quite ignorant of the most everyday matters. I just asked him—”
“Are you going to give us some music, Miss Luttrell?” said a deep, rich voice behind them, and Millicent turned round smiling.
“I was looking out two of your songs, Mr Hallam. You will sing something?”
“If you wish it,” he said quietly, and there was nothing impressive in his manner.
“Oh, we should all be glad. Mamma is so fond of your songs.”
“I must make the regular stipulation,” said Mr Hallam smiling. “Banking people are very exacting: they do nothing without being paid.”
“You mean that I must sing as well,” said Millicent.