"And what is that?"
"Your love. Do send for her, Hilda. Never mind whether the spare-room is furnished or not."
Hilda sat and fidgeted with her gold chain. Her face, which had been full of smiles and dimples, was now pale with emotion, her eyes were full of trouble.
"Why are you so irresolute?" asked Mildred impatiently.
"Oh, I—I don't know. I am not quite my own mistress. I—I must think."
The servant entered the room with a letter on a little salver. Hilda took it up.
"Why, this is from Judy," she exclaimed. "Perhaps she's much better already. Do you mind my reading it, Mildred?"
"Read it, certainly. I shall like to know how the dear queer mite is getting on."
Hilda opened her letter, and, taking out a tiny pink sheet, read a few words written on it.
"My Dear Hilda: