“Well,” she answered, “I should be rather surprised if he gave you nothing.”
There was a little pause, only broken by the scratching of Lady Cantourne's quill pen.
“Auntie!” exclaimed the girl suddenly, “why does he hate me? You have known him all your life—you must know why he hates me so.”
Lady Cantourne shrugged her shoulders.
“I suppose,” went on Millicent with singular heat, “that some one has been telling him things about me—horrid things—false things—that I am a flirt, or something like that; I am sure I'm not.”
Lady Cantourne was addressing an envelope, and did not make any reply.
“Has he said anything to you, Aunt Caroline?” asked Millicent in an aggrieved voice.
Lady Cantourne laid aside her letter.
“No,” she answered slowly, “but I suppose there are things which he does not understand.”
“Things?”