or tears. She went away sobbing, and Lettice was
left to think over this new turn of affairs. Was Sydney's conscience
troubling him, she wondered, after all?

This was early in November, soon after she came to Bute Lodge, and as
the time went on, she could not but notice that the signs of trouble in
Milly's face increased rather than diminished. Lettice had a suspicion
also that she had not managed to get rid of the man with whom she had
been walking on the Common. She was sure that she saw him in the
neighborhood more than once, and although he never, to her knowledge,
spoke to Milly or came to the house, she saw that Milly sometimes looked
unusually agitated and distressed. It was gradually borne in upon
Lettice's mind that she had better learn a little more of the girl's
story, for her own sake; and coming upon her one day with the signs of
trouble plainly written on her face, Lettice could not forbear to speak.

Milly was sitting in a little dressing-room, with some needlework in her
hand. The baby was sleeping in a cradle at her side. She sprang up when
Lettice entered; but Lettice made her sit down again, and then sat down
as well.

"What is it, Milly? Is there anything wrong that I don't know of? Come,
don't give way. I want to help you, but how can I do that unless you
tell me everything?"

"There is nothing to tell except what you know," said Milly, making an
effort to command herself. "But, sometimes, when I think of it all, I
can't help giving way. I did not mean you to see it though, miss."

"I have never asked you any questions, Milly, about all that happened
after you left me, and I do not want to know more than you wish to tell
me. But don't you think I might do something to place matters on a
better footing, if I knew your circumstances a little better?"

"Oh, I could never--never tell you all!" said Milly hiding her face.

"Don't tell me all then. You have called yourself Mrs. Beadon so far.
You have heard nothing of Mr. Beadon lately except what you told me the
other day?"

"Only what Mr. Johnson said." Milly averted her head and looked at her
child. "The name," she went on in a low voice, "the name--is not--not
Beadon."

"Never mind the name. Perhaps it is as well that you should not tell me.
When did you see him last?"

"In May."

"Never since May?"

"Not once." Milly hung her head and played with the ring on her finger.
"He does not want to see me again!" she broke out almost bitterly