Mr. Ingram had been speaking of a celebrated singer whom he had heard in Paris.
"She is to sing at St. James' Hall next Saturday week," he went on. "They say the place will be packed. A friend of mine has some tickets at his bestowal if you and your sister would care to go." As usual he addressed Waveney; but Mollie's face grew very long.
"Oh, dear, how nice it would have been!" she sighed; "but Waveney is going away;" and her eyes filled with tears.
"Going away!" he echoed in surprise.
"Yes. She is going to be a reader and companion to a lady living at Erpingham, and she will only come home on Sundays;" and then a big tear rolled down Mollie's smooth cheek and dropped into her lap. "And we have never been apart for a single day!" She finished with a little sob.
"Dear Mollie, hush," whispered Waveney. "We ought not to trouble Mr. Ingram with our little worries. Erpingham is a nice place," she continued, trying to speak cheerfully. "Do you know it?"
"Oh, yes," he returned, quickly. "Most people know it. There is a fine common, and some golf links, and there are some big houses there."
"Yes; but the Red House is in Erpingham Lane."
Then Mr. Ingram started.
"I think some ladies of the name of Harford live there," he said, carelessly. "Two are very much given to good works."