She poured out what she had just heard, with her own comments and additions.  “Seven children, papa!  And if the concert does not succeed he must give up his home, and turn out into the streets with them—­it is, you see, almost a matter of life or death with him.  He is very poor.”

“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.

“Tell everybody,” said she, eagerly.  “Everybody you come across, if, as you think, it will be the means of inducing people to attend.  I shall tell all friends who call upon me, and ask them to go.”

When Mr. Carlyle came up in the evening, the earl was temporarily absent from the room.  Isabel began to speak of the concert.

“It is a hazardous venture for Mr. Kane,” observed Mr. Carlyle.  “I fear he will only lose money, and add to his embarrassments.”

“Why do you fear that?” she asked.

“Because, Lady Isabel, nothing gets patronized at West Lynne—­nothing native; and people have heard so long of poor Kane’s necessities, that they think little of them.”

“Is he so very poor?”

“Very.  He is starved half his time.”

“Starved!” repeated Isabel, an expression of perplexity arising to her face as she looked at Mr. Carlyle, for she scarcely understood him.  “Do you mean that he does not have enough to eat?”

“Of bread he may, but not much better nourishment.  His salary, as organist, is thirty pounds, and he gets a little stray teaching.  But he has his wife and children to keep, and no doubt serves them before himself.  I dare say he scarcely knows what it is to taste meat.”