Millie was holding her muff up to her face, and peered at her from above it, wild-eyed, terrified.
“It isn’t you I want,” she said. “Where is Lyndhurst? I—I had an appointment with him. He was late—we—we were going a drive together. What do you know, Cousin Amy?” she almost shrieked; “and where is he?”
“Sit down, Millie, as I tell you,” said Mrs. Ames very quietly. “There is nothing to be frightened at. I know everything.”
“We were going a drive,” began Millie again, still looking wildly about. “He did not come, and I was frightened. I came to see where he was. I asked you if you knew—if you knew anything about him, did I not? Why do you say you know everything?”
Suddenly Mrs. Ames saw that there was something here infinitely more worthy of pity than she had suspected. There was no que
