"My dear chap," said Harry Helston, "what this scrap of a child has been through would have broken the spirit of anybody else. Her brute of a Boer stepmother—"
Millie turned to him quickly.
"Please, Mr. Helston, my uncle does not wish it known," she said, with sedate dignity.
"What? Oh, very well, pussie!" replied her friend, gazing round at the eager faces of the governess and the girls; "I'll say no more, then. Mustn't get you into trouble. What are you up to with my gun? Want to shoot a bird—eh?"
"Oh, do let me," she begged; "I've not had a chance for so long! My arm is well enough for me to be able to take a sight. Do let me try!"
"Come this way. Freshfield says there are any amount of birds just over this ridge," said Burmester eagerly. "I should like to see you shoot."
Melicent possessed herself of the gun, and went forward, laughing and sparkling. The others followed as if spellbound. Nobody had an eye for Freshfield and Gwen, who came slowly behind, making the most of their moment. Very soon, up went the whir of brown wings again. Millie stopped, took aim with what seemed to be great deliberation; there was a breathless pause; a bird fell; everyone was laughing and congratulating the sportswoman. Lance Burmester presented her with her prize, and added another to make a brace. She was urged to come on, and repeat her exploit, but Tommy was growing nervous, and interfered.
"The vicar might not like it—they must be getting home."
Melicent went, quite happily, having received the assurance that her friends were at hand, and would look her up before long. She was unprepared for the torrent of reproaches and abuse which streamed forth upon her head as soon as they were out of sight of the shooting party.
"You mean little cat!" "You're a regular sneak!" "We know now, it's you yourself that want to keep it dark!" "Why couldn't you hold your tongue!" "Father said you were not to mention it, he never said a word about other people."