“You made him?” she asked.
“I helped to make him,” said Mrs. Ames.
Millie got up again.
“I want to see him,” she said. “You don’t understand, Cousin Amy. He has got to come. I don’t care whether it is wicked or not. I love him. You don’t understand him either. You don’t know how splendid he is. He is unhappy at home; he has often told me so.”
Mrs. Ames took hold of the wretched woman by both hands.
“You are raving, Millie,” she said. “You must stop being hysterical. You hardly know whom you are talking to. If you do not pull yourself together, I shall send for your husband, and say you have been taken ill.”
Millie gave a sudden gasp of laughter.
“Oh, I am not so stupid as you think!” she said. “Wilfred is away. Where is Lyndhurst?”
Mrs. Ames did not let go of her.
“Millie,” she said, “if you are not sensible at once, I will tell you I shall do. I shall call Parker, and together we will put you into your cab, and you shall be driven straight home. I am perfectly serious. I hope you will not oblige me to do that. You will be much wiser to pull yourself together, and let us have a talk. But understand one thing quite clearly. You are not going to see Lyndhurst.”