"It is perfectly true, Carrie. At this moment Philip is at the Firs."
Mrs. Passmore opened her lips—her bright eyes traveled all over Frances's face.
"You don't look well," she said, after a long pause. "I am puzzled to account for your not looking well now."
"What you think is not going to happen, Carrie. Philip is not likely to make a long visit. He came yesterday; he may go again to-morrow or next day. We won't talk of it. Oh, yes, of course it is nice to think he is alive and well. Carrie, does your aunt Lucilla still want a companion?"
Mrs. Passmore jumped from her seat—her eyes lighted up; she laid her two dimpled, heavily ringed hands on Frances's shoulders.
"My dear, you can't mean it! You can't surely mean that you would come? You know what you are to auntie; you can do anything with her. Why, you would save her, Frances; you would save us all."
"I do think of accepting the post, if you will give it to me," said Frances.
"Give it to you? you darling! As if we have not been praying and longing for this for the last two years!"
"But, Carrie, I warn you that I only come because necessity presses me—and—and—I must make conditions—I must make extravagant demands."
"Anything, dearest. Is it a salary? Name anything you fancy. You know Aunt Lucilla is rolling in money. Indeed, we all have more than we know what to do with. Money can't buy everything, Frances. Ah, yes, I have proved that over and over again; but if it can buy you, it will for once have done us a good turn. What do you want, dear? Don't be afraid to name your price—a hundred a year? You shall have it with pleasure."