“By the way,” he began, “I hope I shall see you at church on Sunday evening. I know the damp weather prevents your attendance at times, but come if you possibly can.”
“So far as I know,” answered Mrs. Duncan brightly, “I shall be there. But why specially next Sunday? Is there anything out of the common going to take place?”
“Only this,” replied the Rector, stirring his tea, “that a newly-come member of our congregation has promised to sing for us. She, for it is a lady, is a professional vocalist, and when I called on her mother some weeks ago, Miss Heritage told me that if ever she could help me by singing in the church at any time, she would most gladly do so. I thought it so kind of her, for indeed I should not have liked to ask such a thing. It seems like imposing on people’s good nature.”
“I agree with you there, Mr. Mellis, and it was a graceful thing in this lady to place herself at your disposal. What did you say her name was?”
“Heritage—Marielle Heritage.”
“What a pretty name!” exclaimed Mrs. Duncan.
“Yes, and a pretty girl too, you will say when you see her,” added the Rector.
“Hallo, little mother, and who is this pretty girl you are discussing?” said someone who had quietly entered the room.
“Dear me, Magnus, what a start you gave me!” said his mother, stooping to pick up a tea-spoon which, in her fright, she had let fall.
“Here, let me do that for you, dear. There it is. How d’ye do, Mr. Mellis? Wet day, isn’t it?”