nt a new candle, and make money out of it. Well,' I says,
'I'd be above candles, Luke!' My! you should have seen how angry he
got! Who said he wanted to make money? Who'd ever heard him mentioning
money, he'd like to know? If people had low minds, that wasn't his
fault! And then he went off grumbling to himself.'

'But,' ventured Lydia, with diffidence, 'I don't see there's any harm
even if he did think of making money--do you, Mrs. Poole?'

'Not I, child! I only talked so just to tease him. I do so like to
tease Luke; he puts on such airs. Let him make money of course, if he
can; all the better for him. I'd a deal rather have him doing this than
spending all his nights at that club in Westminster Bridge Road,
talking nonsense, and worse. Why, he's ever so much better to live with
now than he used to be. He really does talk sensible sometimes, and he
isn't such a great baby about--about some things.'

Mrs. Poole smiled and held her tongue.

'And what's the last news from your sister?' was her next question.

'Oh, I had a letter yesterday,' Lydia replied, her face lighting up.
'It was all about the concert next Wednesday.'

'Well, well! She must be full of it, mustn't she, now? It must be a
trying thing, to sing for the first time.'

'But it isn't so bad as if she had to sing alone, you know.'

'No, to be sure; but it must be bad enough even in a choir. Shan't you
see her before the night?'

'No. And I shan't be able to speak to her on Wednesday, either. But the
next day we shall have all the evening together. She sent me my ticket.
Look, I've brought it to show you.'

It was a ticket for a concert in one of the suburbs of London. Lydia
kept it in an envelope, and handled it with care. Mrs. Poole, before
taking it, wiped her hands on her apron, and then held the card between
the tips of her thumb and middle finger.

'Will her name be on the programme?' she asked.

'No. They're called Mr. Redfern's choir, that's all.'

'Well, I'm sure it's very nice, and something to be proud of. And she
still keeps her health?'

'She says she is very well indeed.'

'Mrs. Poole,' added Lydia, lowering her voice, 'you haven't said
anything about it?'

'No, no, my dear; not I.'

'It's better not, I think. Of course it doesn't really matter, but
still----'

'Bless you, I understand very well, Lydia. There's no occasion to talk
about such things at all. I suppose Mary Bower knows?'

'Oh yes, I told Mary.'

'Wouldn't