Althea had her own little plans, which she did not impart to Moritz, although she had already talked them over with Waveney.
"You know, my dear child," she had said, seriously, to her, the evening before Waveney started for Eastbourne. "I have been thinking a great deal of you and Mollie, and I have made up my mind to part with my dear little companion."
"What can you mean?" asked Waveney, in a startled voice; but she flushed uneasily. "I know I have been very little use to you lately, and that I have neglected my duties shamefully; but I was going to speak to you about that; I want you to give me less money—indeed—indeed," as Althea looked extremely amused at this, "I am quite serious. I have not earned my salary, and I cannot take it—it would not be honest;" and here Waveney drew up her slight figure, and looked very resolute.
"Why, Waveney, my dear child," remonstrated Althea, "surely you are not going to disappoint me after all these months! I thought we were such good friends, you and I, and that we understood each other thoroughly!" And as the girl looked at her in dumb questioning she continued, affectionately, "Dear friends do not differ for a trifle, or stand on their dignity. What are a few pounds, more or less, compared to all you and Mollie have done for me?"
"How do you mean, dear Miss Althea?" asked Waveney, quite taken aback at this. "I have done little enough, I know, and as for Mollie——"
"You have brought fresh interests into my life," returned Althea, quietly. "You have given me two more human beings to serve and love. Yes," she continued, but her voice was not quite steady, "I am very fond of you and your pretty Mollie, and it adds to my happiness to feel that I am any help or comfort to either of you."
"Comfort! What should I have done without you?" replied Waveney, with emotion. "My own mother could hardly have been kinder and more patient!" Then Althea flushed slightly.
"Well, then, you will be a good child, and let me finish what I have to say." And then, in her clear, sensible way, she explained her views about the future.
When Mollie married, Waveney would have to leave them. It was impossible for her father and Noel to do without her.
And Waveney, who had not taken this into consideration, felt a sudden thrill of pain at the idea of leaving the Red House.