days were breathless and sultry, and the freshness of the foliage
had already begun to fade after an unusually dry summer. Milly and I
had been very happy together, and I think we both looked forward
with a vague dread to the coming break in our lives. She loved her
father as dearly as she had ever done, and longed ardently to see
him again; but she knew as well as I did that our independence must
end with his return.

'If he were coming back alone, Mary,' she said--'if that marriage
were all a dream, and he were coming back alone--how happy I should
be! I know that of is own free will he would never come between me
and any wish of mine. But I don't know how he would act under his
wife's influence. You cannot imagine the power she has over him. And
we shall have to begin the old false life over again, she and I--
disliking and distrusting each other in our hearts--the daily round
of civilities and ceremonies and pretences. O Mary, you cannot think
how I hate it.'

We had seen nothing of Julian Stormont during all the time of our
happy solitude; but on the day appointed for Mr. and Mrs. Darrell's
return he came to Thornleigh, looking more careworn than ever. I
pitied him a little, knowing the state of his feelings about Milly,
believing indeed that he loved her with a rare intensity, and being
inclined to attribute the change in him to his disappointment upon
this subject.

Milly told him how ill he was looking, and he said something about
hard work and late hours, with a little bitter laugh.

'It doesn't matter to any one whether I am well or ill, you see,