I could fancy, as I looked at him, that last bitter interview with
his mother, and I could imagine how hard and cruel such a man might
be under the influence of an unpardonable wrong. Like Mrs. Darrell,
I was inclined to place myself on the side of the unfortunate
lovers, rather than on that of the mother, who had been willing to
sacrifice her son's happiness to her pride of race.

We all three remained silent for some little time, Milly and I
standing together in the window, Mr. Egerton leaning against the
mantelpiece, watching the rain with an absent look in his face. He
roused himself at last, as if with an effort, and came over to the
window by which we stood.

'It looks rather hopeless at present,' he said; 'but I shall spin
you over to Thornleigh in no time; so you mustn't be anxious. It is
at Thornleigh Manor you live, is it not?'

'Yes,' Milly answered. 'My name is Darrell, and this young lady is
Miss Crofton, my very dear friend.'

He bowed in recognition of this introduction.

'I thought as much--I mean as to your name being Darrell. I had the
honour to know Mr. Darrell very well when I was a lad, and I have a
vague recollection of a small child in white frock, who, I think,
must have been yourself. I have only been home a week, or I should
have done myself the pleasure of calling on your father.'

'Papa is in Paris,' Milly answered, 'with my stepmother.'