rayal of her daughter's first love, by her daughter's own lips, which
would have absorbed the whole attention of other mothers, failed to
occupy her for a moment. Her jealousy, distorting all things to fit its
own conclusions, was busied in distorting what she had just heard. "A
blind," she thought, "which has deceived my girl. It doesn't deceive
_me_. Is Miss Gwilt likely to succeed?" she asked, aloud. "Does Mr.
Armadale show any sort of interest in her?"

Neelie looked up at her mother for the first time. The hardest part
of the confession was over now. She had revealed the truth about Miss
Gwilt, and she had openly mentioned Allan's name.

"He shows the most unaccountable interest," she said. "It's impossible
to understand it. It's downright infatuation. I haven't patience to talk
about it!"

"How do _you_ come to be in Mr. Armadale's secrets?" inquired Mrs.
Milroy. "Has he informed _you_, of all the people in the world, of his
interest in Miss Gwilt?"

"Me!" exclaimed Neelie, indignantly. "It's quite bad enough that he
should have told papa."

At the re-appearance of the major in the narrative, Mrs. Milroy's
interest in the conversation rose to its climax. She raised herself
again from the pillow. "Get a chair," she said. "Sit down, child, and
tell me all about it. Every word, mind--every word!"

"I can only tell you, mamma, what papa told me."

"When?"

"Saturday. I went in with papa's lunch to the workshop, and he said,
'I have just had a visit from Mr. Armadale; and I want to give you
a caution while I think of it.' I didn't say anything, mamma; I only
waited. Papa went on, and told me that Mr. Armadale had been speaking to
him on the subject of Miss Gwilt, and that he had been asking a question
about her which nobody in his position had a right to ask. Papa said he
had been obliged, good-humoredly, to warn Mr. Armadale to be a little
more delicate, and a little more careful next time. I didn't feel much
interested, mamma; it didn't matter to _me_ what Mr. Armadale said or
did. Why should I care about it?"

"Never mind yourself," interposed Mrs. Milroy, sharply. "Go on with
what your father said. What was he doing when he was talking about Miss
Gwilt? How did he look?"

"Much as usual, mamma. He was walking up and down the workshop; and I
took his arm and walked up and down with him."

"I don't care what _you_ were doing," said Mrs. Milroy, more and more
irritably. "Did your father tell you what Mr.