“I’m sure we may,” said Bayle, laughing, “only I must go.”
“Oh!” cried the child pouting, “don’t go, Mr Bayle! I do like being in the garden with you so very, very much!”
Mrs Hallam turned her sweet, grave face to him.
“Can you give her a few minutes? Julie will be so disappointed.”
“There,” cried Bayle merrily, “you see, doctor, what a little tyrant she grows! She makes every one her slave!”
“I don’t!” said the child, pouting. “Mamma always says a run in the garden does me so much good, and it will do Mr Bayle good too. Thibs says he works too hard.”
“Come along, then,” he cried laughing; and the man seemed transformed, running off with the child to get a basket, while Millicent gazed after them, her countenance looking brighter, and the old people seemed to have forgotten their troubles, as they gazed smilingly after the pair.
“Bless her!” said Mrs Luttrell, swaying herself softly to and fro, and passing her hands along her knees.
“Yes, that’s the way, Milly. Give her plenty of fresh air, and laugh at me and my tribe.”
Then quite an eager conversation ensued, Mrs Hallam brightening up; and on both sides every allusion to trouble was, by a pious kind of deception, kept out of sight, Millicent Hallam being in the fond belief that her parents did not even suspect that she was not thoroughly happy, while they were right in thinking that their child was ignorant of the straits to which they had been brought.