merica
all the Summer Vacation, to stay with them in the Autumn Term as Lady
Thomson had been with them in May, and Milly did not like to think of
the number of things, all wrong, which she was sure to have noticed in
the house. Besides, what with theatricals and other engagements, it was
evident that a good many people had been "in and out" in the Summer
Term--a condition of life which Lady Thomson always denounced. Milly was
anxious for her to see that that phase was past and that her favorite
niece had settled down into the quiet, well-ordered existence of which
she approved.

Aunt Beatrice came; but oh, disappointment! If it had been possible to
say of Lady Thomson, whose moods were under almost perfect control,
that she was out of temper, Milly would have said it. She volunteered no
opinion, but when asked, she compared Milly's new cook unfavorably with
her former one. When her praise was anxiously sought, she observed that
it was undesirable to be careless in one's housekeeping, but less
disagreeable than to be fussy and house-proud. She added that
Milly--whom she called Mildred--must be on her guard against relaxing
into domestic dulness, when she could be so extremely clever and
charming if she liked. Milly was bewildered and distressed. She felt
sure that she had passed through a phase of which Aunt Beatrice ought to
have disapproved. She had evidently been frivolous and neglectful of her
duties; yet it seemed as though her aunt had been better pleased with
her when she was like that. What could have made Aunt Beatrice, of all
women, unkind and unjust?

In this way more than a year went by. The baby grew and was
short-coated; the October Term came round once more, and still Milly
remained the same Milly. To have wished it otherwise would have seemed
like wishing for her death.

But at times a great longing for another, quite another, came over Ian.
It was like a longing for the beloved dead. Of course it was mad--mad!
He struggled against the feeling, and generally succeeded in getting
back to the point of view that the change had been more in himself, in
his own emotional moods, than in Milly.

October, the golden month, passed by and November came in, soft and
dim; a merry month for the hunting men beside the coverts, where the
red-brown leaves still hung on the oak-trees and brushwood, and among
the grassy lanes, the wide fresh fields and open hill-sides. No ill
month either for those who love to light