"I am poor myself," said the earl.

"I was so sorry for him when he was speaking. He kept turning red and
white, and catching up his breath in agitation; it was painful to him to
tell of his embarrassments. I am sure he is a gentleman."

"Well, you may take a pound's worth of tickets, Isabel, and give them to
the upper servants. A village concert!"

"Oh, papa, it is not--can't you see it is not? If we, you and I, will
promise to be present, all the families round West Lynne will attend,
and he will have the room full. They will go because we do--he said so.
Make a sacrifice for once, dearest papa, and go, if it be only for
an hour. _I_ shall enjoy it if there's nothing but a fiddle and a
tambourine."

"You gipsy! You are as bad as a professional beggar. There--go and tell
the fellow we will look in for half an hour."

She flew back to Mr. Kane, her eyes dancing. She spoke quietly, as she
always did, but her own satisfaction gladdened her voice.

"I am happy to tell you that papa has consented. He will take four
tickets and we will attend the concert."

The tears rushed into Mr. Kane's eyes; Isabel was not sure but they were
in her own. He was a tall, thin, delicate-looking man, with long, white
fingers, and a long neck. He faltered forth his thanks with an inquiry
whether he might be allowed to state openly that they would be present.