"Oh, have I!" said Milly, triumphantly. "You've only got to look at him."
"When did you tell him, then?"
"I told him—let me see—it was a week ago last Friday."
Agatha was silent. She wondered. It had been after Friday a week ago that he had prevailed so terribly.
"Agatha," said Milly, solemnly, "when we go away you won't lose sight of him? You won't let go of him?"
"You needn't be afraid. I doubt now if he will let go of me."
"How do you mean—now?" Milly flushed slightly as a flower might flush.
"Now that you've told him, now that he thinks it's me."
"Perhaps," said Milly, "that was why I told him. I don't want him to let go."
