“Letter for you, Miss Milly,” she said.
“A note for me, Thisbe?” And Millicent took the missive which Thisbe held with her apron to keep it clean.
“Mr Bayle give it me hissen.”
Millicent’s face grew troubled, and Thisbe frowned, and left the room shaking her head.
The note was brief, and the tears stood in Millicent’s eyes as she read it twice.
“Pity me. Forgive me. I was mad.”
“Poor boy!” she said softly as she refolded it and placed it in her desk, to stand there, thoughtful and with her brow wrinkled.
She was in the bay-window, and after standing there a few minutes, her face changed; the troubled look passed away as a steady, regular step was heard on the gravel path beyond the hedge. There was the faint creaking noise, too, at every step of the hard tight boots, and as their wearer passed, Millicent looked up and returned the salute: for a glossy hat was raised, and he who bowed passed on, leaving her with her colour slightly heightened and an eager look in her eyes.
“Any answer, miss?”
Millicent turned quickly, to see that Thisbe had returned.