For a moment she looked up at him with almost a scared expression. 'Yes, always,' she returned at last, very quietly.
'But why so, my child,' he replied, gravely, amusing himself at her expense, 'when John Heriot is my name?'
'Because—because—oh, I don't know,' was the somewhat distressed answer. 'Heriot is very pretty, but John—only Aunt Milly likes John; she says it is beautiful—her favourite name.'
It was only one of Polly's random speeches, and at any other time would have caused Mildred little embarrassment; but anxious, jaded, and weary as she was, her feelings were not so well under control, and as Dr. Heriot raised his eyes with a pleased expression as though to hear it corroborated by her own lips, a burning blush, that seemed to scorch her, suddenly rose to her face.
'Polly, how can you be so foolish?' she began, with a trace of real annoyance in her clear tones; but then she stopped, and corrected herself with quiet good sense. 'I believe, after all, it is my favourite name. You know it belonged to the beloved disciple.'
'Thank you,' was Dr. Heriot's low reply, and the subject dropped; but Mildred, sick at heart, wondered if her irritability had been noticed. The pain of that dreadful blush seemed to scorch her still. What would he think of her?
Her fears were not quite groundless. Dr. Heriot had noticed her sudden embarrassment, and had quickly changed the subject; but more than once that night he went over the brief conversation, and questioned himself as to the meaning of that strange sudden flush on Mildred Lambert's face.
Most of the party were growing weary of their enforced stay, when Richard at last made his appearance in the glen. The moon had risen, the heavy autumnal damps had already saturated the place, the gipsy fire had burnt down to its last ember, and Etta sat shivering beside it in her red cloak.
Richard's apologies were ample and sounded sincere, but he offered no explanation of his strange desertion. The wagonette was waiting, he said, and they had better lose no time in packing up. He thought even Polly must have had enough of her beloved cotton-mill.
Polly made no answer; with Richard's reappearance her forced spirits seemed to collapse; she stood by listlessly while the others lifted the hampers and wraps; when the little cavalcade started she followed with a step so slow and flagging that Dr. Heriot paused more than once.