"Why—what—has he"—a feeling of delicacy prevented Norah from finishing the sentence.
"Deserted me!" moaned Milly, as if to utter these two words was to wring blood from her heart. "O Norah, if you knew what I've had to bear! But it's all over now,—I don't know where he is,—I'm never like to see him again!"
The street chanced to be very quiet; Milly turned, and, as she walked by the side of her friend, in low earnest tones they went on with their conversation.
"Then what will you do, my poor dear Milly?" asked Norah, with heartfelt sympathy and pity.
"I must go into service again. I've come up to London to look out for a situation. My difficulty is that Mrs. Lane, with whom I lived all my years of service, is somewhere abroad, I don't know where, and, as I left her to be married, I did not so much as secure a written character from her."
"Oh, I'm so glad!" exclaimed Norah, suddenly.
"What,—glad that I've not a corner to turn to?" asked Milly.
"Oh, no, not glad of that, but glad that I may be able to help you. Mrs. Lowndes—she's my mistress—asked me only this morning if I knew of any nice housemaid who could take Martha's place. My lady had nearly fixed on one yesterday, but the character did not suit, so she's in a hurry to find another."
"Mrs. Lowndes is not likely to take a servant on your recommendation, I should fear."