"But Mrs. Milward's 'at home' begins quite early. I should not like to miss that."
"Who cares for Mrs. Milward! Look here, mother, suppose you pay the calls and let me go and see Hilda. I have a good deal I want to talk over with her; for one thing, I want to say something about Judy."
"Poor, queer little Judy," said Mrs. Anstruther with a laugh. "What can you possibly have to say about her?"
"I don't think Judy is at all well," said Mildred. "There is such a thing as dying of heart-hunger. If ever a child suffered from that old-fashioned complaint, it is that poor mite at Little Staunton Rectory."
"My dear Mildred, you get more absurd every day. Judy lives in a most comfortable home, for notwithstanding their poverty, old Aunt Marjorie manages to keep everything going in really respectable style. The child has a loving father, a devoted aunt, a dear little sister, and an excellent governess, and you talk of her dying of heart-hunger! It is absurd."
"Nevertheless," said Mildred,—she stopped abruptly, her bright eyes looked across the room and out through the open window,—"nevertheless," she said, giving her foot an impatient tap, "I should like to see Hilda. I should like to have a long talk with her. I have heard nothing about her since her wedding, so by your leave, mother, I'll drive over to West Kensington immediately after lunch and send the victoria back for you."
Mrs. Anstruther, who was always more or less like wax in the hands of her strong-minded daughter, was obliged somewhat unwillingly to submit to this arrangement; and Mildred, charmingly dressed and looking young and lovely, was bowled rapidly away in the direction of Hilda Quentyns' humble home soon after two o'clock.
"It will be pleasant to take the poor old dear by surprise," said Mildred to herself. "There was a time when I felt jealous of her good fortune in having secured Jasper Quentyns, but, thank goodness, I have quite got over the assaults of the green-eyed monster now. Ah, here we are. What a queer little street!—what frightfully new and yet picturesque houses! They look like dove-cotes. I wonder if this pair of turtle-doves coo in their nest all day long."
The footman jumped down and rang the doorbell. In a moment a neatly-dressed but very young looking servant stood in the open doorway.
"Yes, Mrs. Quentyns was at home," she said, and Mildred entered Hilda's pretty house.