"And so you turned cold to me, Elfie," I said.
"Did I? It was only that I felt so ashamed. And sometimes I was almost sure that Millie guessed what I had seen. It gave her a sort of hold upon me. Oh, I do wish I wasn't such a coward! When you hurt yourself so, I made up my mind that I wouldn't go on with it any longer: but I had to wait till you were better, and I couldn't have a quiet time alone with you till to-day."
"Elfie, have you told me everything now?" I asked, holding her face between my hands, and looking into it.
She blushed slowly. "Yes,—no,—not all. Millie used to laugh and joke about you. Must I tell that? She said you were—were—" a pause and a little sob. "I can't think why Millie dislikes you so,—when you are so dear and good, and Mother's own friend. But she does. She is always trying to set Maggie and Nona and the little ones against you. And then—you know—she said she had a friend in Bath,—and she knew when Captain Lenox was coming, and she wouldn't let us tell you, though he was a friend of yours. And she said—things—"
"Yes?" I said gravely.
Elfie sobbed again. "I knew Mother would be so vexed,—Mother can't bear that sort of talk and nonsense. But Millie would,—and she wanted us to think that she knew about—about you—from her friend in Bath. But I felt perfectly sure that she had read something of yours that she had no business to read,—and it made me feel so miserable. But you won't hate me,—darling Miss Con, will you?—and you won't tell Mother?"
"I will do neither, Elfie," I said, drawing her into my arms. "Perhaps some day it may be right for you to tell your Mother; but I am not the person to do so. Miss Millington has wronged me, and I cannot take any step that might look like revenge. Still—if she is capable of such an action, she is hardly fit to train your little sisters."
Elfie's tearful eyes looked up wonderingly.
"Don't you feel angry with her?"
"I have felt so. This is an old trouble, Elfie. I knew at the time what Miss Millington had done."