Mr. Cardew was a keen observer, and he noted these things at a glance.
“I have come to talk to you, Mrs. Ward,” he said; “and, if you will forgive me, I should like to be quite frank with you.”
“There is nothing I desire better,” said Mrs. Ward in her exceedingly high-bred and sympathetic voice.
That voice reminded Cardew of Maggie Howland, and yet he felt at once that it was infinitely superior to hers.
“Sit down, won’t you, Mr. Cardew?” said Mrs. Ward, and she set him the example by seating herself in a low chair as she spoke.
“I hope I am not taking up too much of your time,” he said; “for, if so, as I said to your servant, I can call again.”
“By no means,” said Mrs. Ward; “I have nothing whatever to do this morning. I am, therefore, quite at your service. You will tell me what you wish?” she said in that magnetic voice of hers.
“The fact is simply this,” he said. “My friend Tristram, who is rector of Meredith, in Warwickshire, is sending his two daughters to your school.”
“Yes,” said Mrs. Ward gently. “Molly and Isabel are coming to me next term.”
“I am Tristram’s near neighbor,” said Mr. Cardew, “I live at Meredith Manor. At the present moment the Tristram girls have another pupil of yours staying with them—Miss Howland.”