Mildred looked very pretty in her scant frock, low bodice, and short sleeves; after the manner of modern girls seeming, perhaps, a little commonplace or ordinary because so like so many others of her class and years, at once doll-like and self-possessed, shrewd and yet innocent. She was, or at least believed herself to be, entirely modern; although at the moment occupied with elemental things.
“Now,” said Miss Verinder, “I am all attention,” and she came from the bureau and drew a chair to the sofa.
“I’m so glad I’ve caught you alone,” said Mildred feebly.
“Well, my dear Mildred,” said Miss Verinder, “I am purposely alone, because, when I received your little note saying you wished to see me—I don’t know why—but somehow I had the suspicion that there was something you wanted to tell me, or to talk about.”
“Oh, Miss Verinder! How kind—how very kind!” said Mildred in a gush of gratitude.
Indeed this divination seemed to her a most striking proof of Miss Verinder’s power of sympathy; her own instinct had been correct; she was glad she had come here. She went on impulsively and confidently; telling Miss Verinder how she had half mooted the subject of her troubles to two comfortable matrons, but in each case she had felt rebuffed and had immediately “curled up,” feeling certain that neither would give her any help, but rather take the side of her family against her. Then she had made up her mind to tell Miss Verinder all about it.
“I knew you’d help me if you could, dear Miss Verinder. You have been so nice to me ever since we first met—and, I know it sounds conceited, but I felt you did really like me.”
“I do like you very much,” said Miss Verinder simply and affectionately; and she stretched out her hand and gave a little squeeze to one of Mildred’s soft warm paws. Then she folded her hands on her lap again.
“Thank you so much. I think you’re just an angel, Miss Verinder.”
“Why always Miss Verinder? Why don’t you call me Emmeline?”