“Now where?” asked Lilian, as they emerged into the open air.
“Home, I guess,” said Mildred, and bidding Oliver good-night, they went back to Beechwood, where they found the Judge impatiently waiting for them. He wanted some music, he said, and he kept Mildred, who was a fine performer, singing and playing for him until it was long after his bed time, and Lilian began to yawn very decidedly.
“She was bored almost to death,” she said, as she at last followed Mildred up the stairs. “She didn’t like Beechwood at all, thus far,—she did wish Lawrence Thornton would come out there,” and with a disagreeable expression upon her pretty face, she nestled down among her pillows, while Mildred, who was slower in her movements, still lingered before the mirror, brushing her rich brown hair.
Suddenly Lilian started up, exclaiming: “I’ve got it, Milly, I’ve got it.”
“Got what?” asked Mildred, in some surprise, and Lilian rejoined, “Lawrence comes home from Chicago to-night, you know, and when he finds I’m gone, he’ll be horridly lonesome, and his father’s dingy old office will look dingier than ever. Suppose I write and invite him to come out here, saying you wish it, too?”
“Well, suppose you do,” returned Mildred with the utmost gravity. “There’s plenty of materials in my desk. Will you write sitting up in bed?” and in the eyes which looked every way but at Lilian there was a spice of mischief.
“You hateful thing,” returned Lilian. “You know well enough that when I say ‘I am going to write to Lawrence,’ I mean you are going to write. He’s so completely hoodwinked that I cannot now astonish him with one of my milk-and-water epistles. Why, I positively spell worse and worse, so Geraldine says. Think of my putting an h in precious!”
“But Lawrence will have to know it some time,” persisted Mildred, “and the longer it is put off the harder it will be for you.”
“He needn’t know either,” said Lilian. “I mean to have you give me ever so many drafts to carry home, and if none of them suit the occasion Geraldine must write, though she bungles awfully. And when I’m his wife, I sha’n’t care if he does know. He can’t help himself then. He’ll have to put up with his putty head.”
“But will he respect you, Lily, if he finds you deceived him to the last?” Mildred asked; and with a look very much like a frown in her soft blue eyes, Lilian replied: “Now, Milly, I believe you are in love with him yourself, and do this to be spiteful, but you needn’t. His father and Geraldine have always told him he should marry me, and once when some one teased him of you, I heard him say that he shouldn’t want to marry a woman unless he knew something of her family, for fear they might prove to be paupers, or even worse. Oh, Milly, Milly, I didn’t mean to make you cry!” and jumping upon the floor, the impulsive Lilian wound her arms around Mildred, whose tears were dropping fast.