“How?” he queried.
“Never mind how. I can.”
“Well,” he assented, “there’s hardly anything you can’t do.”
That was how she came to tell Milly.
She made up her mind to tell her that evening as they sat alone in Agatha’s house. “Harding,” Milly said, “was happy over there with his books; just as he used to be, only more so.” So much more so that she was a little disturbed about it. She was afraid it wouldn’t last. And again she said it was the place, the wonderful place.
“If you want it to last,” Agatha said, “don’t go on thinking it’s the place.”
“Why shouldn’t it be? I feel that he’s safe here. He’s out of it. Things can’t reach him.”
“Bad news reached him to-day.”
“Aggy—what?” Milly whispered in her fright.
“His sister is very anxious about her little girl.”