"Oh, that is nothing," returned Mollie, hastily, putting up her hands to her hot cheeks; she had been through all sorts of vicissitudes during the last half-hour. The water would not boil, or the fire burn properly, though she and Noel had put a whole bundle of sticks into it, and at every stick he had asked her a fresh conundrum. "Have you told dad about Monsieur Blackie?" she asked; and then Waveney smiled. "No, but I will, presently, when father has had his supper. Come out on the balcony a moment, Mollie. Is not the moonlight lovely!" "Yes, I do love these 'white nights,'" returned Mollie, ecstatically. "We used to call them silver nights when we were wee children. Those roofs look as though they were covered with snow. And just see how nice our shabby old courtyard looks; those privets are quite grand. What an old dear the moon is, Wave! She covers up all little defects so nicely, and glorifies all common things." But Waveney did not hear this little rhapsody, neither had she called Mollie out to watch moonlight effects. "Moll, just listen to me a moment: you must not say a word to father about Harley Street--not one word." Mollie looked at her blankly. "And why not, Wave?" "Oh, dear, not for worlds," returned Waveney, earnestly. "He is so low, so unlike himself to-night; he had so set his heart on that poor old thing being a success, but they have all been throwing stones at him, and he is so hurt about it. Don't you know what Noel always says: 'You must not hit a man who is down.' Those are school ethics, but it is true. Dad is just like the brere rabbit to-night,--'him lies low,'--and we must just talk to him and make him laugh." "But Wave, surely"--and Mollie, who was nothing but a big, beautiful, simple child, looked quite shocked--"surely you cannot mean to see that lady without speaking to father!" "But I do mean it, Mollie. Of course I want to tell father--I always long to tell him everything,--but it would be rank selfishness to-night; it would be the last straw, that terrible straw that breaks the camel's back. And I know just what he would do; he would not smoke his pipe and he would not sleep a wink, and he would be like a wreck to-morrow when he goes to Norwood. No: when it is settled it will be time enough to tell him;" and, as usual, Mollie submitted to her sister's stronger will. "Waveney was the clever one," she would say; "she saw things more clearly, and she was generally right;" for Mollie thought nothing of herself, and was always covered with blushes and confusion if any one praised her. So Waveney had her way, and as Mr. Ward smoked his pipe she told him all about Monsieur Blackie; and then Noel shut up his lesson-books and came up stairs, and the three young people sang little glees and songs unaccompanied. And presently Mr. Ward laid down his empty pipe and joined too. And the girls' voices were so fresh and clear, and the man's tenor so sweet, that a passer-by stood for a long time to listen.