It had fallen to Mildred's lot lately to be the fourth at these meetings, for Miss Travice always held aloof, and William never played if he could help it; but on this evening Mildred hesitated, and before she could assent—as she would finally have done—Miss Travice sprang forward.
"I will, dear Mr. Arkell—I will play with you to-night."
"She knows of it, and is leaving us alone," thought Mildred. "How kind of her it is! I fear I have misjudged her."
"I say, Mildred," began William, as they sat apart, his tone dropped to confidence, his voice to a whisper, "did my mother call at your house this afternoon?"
Mildred looked down, and began to play with her pretty gold neckchain. It was one William had given her on her last birthday, nearly a year ago.
"My aunt called, I believe. I was out."
William's face fell.
"Then I suppose you have not heard anything—anything particular? I'm sure I thought she had been to tell you. She was out ever so long."
"Mamma said that Aunt George had been—had been—speaking to her," returned Mildred, not very well knowing how to make the admission.
William saw the confusion, and read it aright.