erself to her mother's love, she
might have said such words as these. As it was, the tears came into her
eyes, and she hung her head in silence.

"Come!" said Mrs. Milroy, beginning to lose patience. "You have
something to say to me about Miss Gwilt. What is it?"

Neelie forced back her tears, and made an effort to answer.

"She aggravates me beyond endurance, mamma; I can't bear her; I shall do
something--" Neelie stopped, and stamped her foot angrily on the floor.
"I shall throw something at her head if we go on much longer like this!
I should have thrown something this morning if I hadn't left the room.
Oh, do speak to papa about it! Do find out some reason for sending her
away! I'll go to school--I'll do anything in the world to get rid of
Miss Gwilt!"

To get rid of Miss Gwilt! At those words--at that echo from her
daughter's lips of the one dominant desire kept secret in her own
heart--Mrs. Milroy slowly raised herself in bed. What did it mean? Was
the help she wanted coming from the very last of all quarters in which
she could have thought of looking for it?

"Why do you want to get rid of Miss Gwilt?" she asked. "What have you
got to complain of?"

"Nothing!" said Neelie. "That's the aggravation of it. Miss Gwilt won't
let me have anything to complain of. She is perfectly detestable; she
is driving me mad; and she is the pink of propriety all the time. I dare
say it's wrong, but I don't care--I hate her!"

Mrs. Milroy's eyes questioned her daughter's face as they had
never questioned it yet. There was something under the surface,
evidently--something which it might be of vital importance to her own
purpose to discover--which had not risen into view. She went on probing
her way deeper and deeper into Neelie's mind, with a warmer and warmer
interest in Neelie's secret.

"Pour me out a cup of tea," she said; "and don't excite yourself, my
dear. Why do you speak to _me_ about this? Why don't you speak to your
father?"

"I have tried to speak to papa," said Neelie. "But it's no use; he
is too good to know what a wretch she is. She is always on her best
behavior with him; she is always contriving to be useful to him. I
can't make him understand why I dislike Miss Gwilt; I can't make _you_
understand--I only understand it myself." She tried to pour out the
tea, and in trying upset the cup. "I'll go downstairs again!" exclaimed
Neelie, with a burst of tears. "I'm not fit for anything; I can't even
pour out a