Mollie was much impressed with this story; she was sorry when Mr. Ingram took his leave. He had paid such a very short visit, and she knew her father's message was the cause. But he had quite recovered his spirits, for, as he went downstairs, she could hear him singing to himself in a low, melodious voice:
"'Here's to the maiden of bashful fifteen,
Here's to the widow of fifty,
Here's to the flaunting, extravagant quean,
And here's to the housewife that's thrifty.
Let the toast pass,
Drink to the lass,
I'll warrant she'll prove an excuse for the glass.'"
Waveney was far happier in her mind when she heard from Mollie that Mr. Ingram's visits were always to be paid on Saturday afternoons; and even Mollie owned that she preferred this.
"You see, Wave," she explained, "it is a little awkward entertaining Mr. Ingram all by myself. If I were like you I should not mind it so much; but I never can talk properly, and he is so dreadfully clever."
"Well, he has travelled and seen the world; but he is not clever like Mr. Chaytor, Mollie. That man is a perfect well of knowledge." But this comparison did not seem to please Mollie.
"I think Mr. Ingram clever," she persisted, "and so does father. He said last evening that he was a thoroughly well-informed man. Oh, Wave, I forgot to tell you something. I asked him yesterday how long he meant to stay in Chelsea, and he looked quite surprised at the question. He said he had not been staying there for weeks, and that he was at his diggings as usual, but that he generally spent a night or two in town every week. 'When I am up in town, I always sleep at my club,' he said. Now, Waveney, is it not odd that he has never told us where he lives? And I did not like to ask him." And Waveney assented to this.
The following Sunday, when Waveney went home, she found Mollie in a state of great excitement.
It was a cold, November afternoon, and a dull moisture seemed to pervade everything. The pavements were wet and greasy, the horses' coats steamed, and the raw dampness was singularly penetrating. As the two girls hurried along, arm-in-arm, Mollie poured out her story breathlessly.
"Oh, Wave, you will never guess; such a wonderful thing is going to happen! Mr. Ingram has got a box at St. James's Theatre for Wednesday for Aylmer's Dream, and he has actually invited father, and Noel, and me; and father says we may go."
"Aylmer's Dream," returned Waveney. "I heard Mr. Chaytor talking about that to Miss Althea. He told her that she and Miss Doreen ought certainly to see it—that Miss Leslie's representation of the crazed Lady Aylmer was the most perfect piece of acting; and Mr. Sargent as Sir Reginald Aylmer was almost as fine."