This afternoon, when we had had tea, she was sitting in one of the windows, reading. Mother was gone out, and I had begun to mend some holes in my gloves. For I do not mean to grow into an untidy authoress, if I can help it. Untidiness is so unwomanly.
I thought Miss Con must be glad of a little real stillness, and I left her alone, and did not talk. And for a moment I felt almost vexed, when Maggie and the twins came rushing in. They were full of fun, and Elfie was in wild spirits, as she generally is now Mrs. Romilly has come back.
Nona declared they wanted a sight of Miss Con,—she had been away "such ages." Maggie hugged her, and plumped down into an arm-chair; and the twins rattled about all sorts of things.
"Oh, I say,—only think," Nona cried all at once. "Maggie has a letter from Millie,—the first she has ever condescended to write. We met the postman outside just now, and he gave it to us."
"Oh, I'm forgetting!" Maggie exclaimed, and she pulled out the envelope, looking round in a half-saucy way at Miss Con, and asking—"Wouldn't you like to hear Millie's news?"
"I should like to know if she is well and happy," Miss Con said.
"I'll read it out. That will be fun," Maggie said.
Then she began, and we all listened,—not that there was anything worth hearing. Miss Millington's letters are as inane as she is herself. The sentences jog on, one after another, in a sort of aimless fashion, all about nothing.
"She doesn't tell us much," Nona said when Maggie reached the end. "Not even why she is at her home now. I thought she had gone to live with an old lady."
"Here is a crossed corner. I didn't see it before," Maggie said, turning the sheet round. "'Have you—' what is the word?—Oh, 'have you seen much of the Denhams lately? They will have told you of Captain Lenox' engagement. A very good thing for him. Quite recent.'"