'I cannot solve riddles,' replied Mildred, in her old sensible manner. 'It strikes me that you have fashioned Dr. Heriot into a sort of bugbear—a bête noir to frighten naughty, prejudiced children; and yet he is truly gentle.'
'It is the sort of gentleness that rebukes one more than sternness,' returned Ethel in a low voice. 'How odd it is, Mildred, when one feels compelled to show the worst side of oneself, to the very people, too, whom one most wishes to propitiate, or, at least—but my speech threatens to be as incoherent as Olive's.'
'I know what you mean; it comes of thinking too much of a mere expression of opinion.'
'Oh no,' she returned, with a quick blush; 'it only comes from a rash impulse to dethrone Mentor altogether—the idea of moral leading reins are so derogatory after childhood has passed.'
'You must give me a hint if I begin to lecture in my turn. I shall forget sometimes you are not Olive or Chriss.'
The soft, brilliant eyes filled suddenly with tears.
'I could find it in my heart to wish I were even Olive, whom you have a right to lecture. How nice it would be to belong to you really, Mildred—to have a real claim on your time and sympathy.'
'All my friends have that,' was the soft answer. 'But how dark it is growing—the longest day must have an end, you see.'
'That means—you are going,' she returned, regretfully. 'Mother Mildred is thinking of her children. I shall come down and see you and them soon, and you must promise to find me some work.'
Mildred shook her head. 'It must not be my finding if it is to satisfy your exorbitant demands.'