and talking to her; while Mrs. Thatcher mumbled a long catalogue of
her ailments and troubles into my somewhat inattentive ear.

Once while those two were talking about his intended departure I
heard Mr. Egerton say,

'If I thought any one cared about my staying--if I could believe that
any one would miss me ever so little--I should be in no hurry to
leave Yorkshire.'

Of course Milly told him that there were many people who would miss
him--Mr. Collingwood for instance, and all the family at the Rectory.
He bent over her, and said something in a very low voice--something
that brought vivid blushes to her face; and a few minutes afterwards
they went to the door to look at the weather, and stood there
talking till I have heard the last of Mrs. Thatcher's woes, and was
free to join them. I had never seen Milly look so lovely as she did
just then, with her downcast eyes, and a little tremulous smile upon
her perfect mouth.

Mr. Egerton walked all the way home with us. The storm was quite
over, the sun shining, and the air full of that cool freshness which
comes after rain. We talked of all kinds of things. Mr. Egerton had
almost made up his mind to spend the autumn at Cumber, he told us;
and he would go to the Pensildon fête, and take Milly's side in the
croquet-match. He seemed in almost boyish spirits during that
homeward walk.

When we went up-stairs to our rooms that night, Milly followed me
into mine. There was nothing new in this; we often wasted half an