walk in Battersea Park. Rhoda had never been
so frank and friendly; she induced the quiet, unpretending girl to talk
of her early days, her schools, her family. Remarkable was Milly's
quiet contentedness; not long ago she had received an increase of
payment from Miss Barfoot, and one would have judged that scarcely a
wish now troubled her, unless it were that she might see her scattered
brothers and sisters, all of whom, happily, were doing pretty well in
the struggle for existence.

'You must feel rather lonely in your lodgings sometimes?' said Rhoda.

'Very rarely. In future I shall have music in the evening. Our best
room has been let to a young man who has a violin, and he plays "The
Blue Bells of Scotland"--not badly.'

Rhoda did not miss the humorous intention, veiled, as usual, under a
manner of extreme sedateness.

'Does Mrs. Widdowson come to see you?'

'Not often. She came a few days ago.'

'You go to her house sometimes?'

'I haven't been there for several months. At first I used to go rather
frequently, but--it's a long way.'

To this subject Rhoda returned after dinner, when they were cosily
settled in the drawing-room.

'Mrs. Widdowson comes here now and then, and we are always very glad to
see her. But I can't help thinking she looks rather unhappy.'

'I'm afraid she does,' assented the other gravely.

'You and I were both at her wedding. It wasn't very cheerful, was it? I
had a disagreeable sense of bad omens all the time. Do you think she is
sorry?'

'I'm really afraid she is.'

Rhoda observed the look that accompanied this admission.

'Foolish girl! Why couldn't she stay with us, and keep her liberty? She
doesn't seem to have made any new friends. Has she spoken to you of
any?'

'Only of people she has met here.'

Rhoda yielded--or seemed to yield--to an impulse of frankness. Bending
slightly forward, with an anxious expression, she said in confidential
tones--

'Can you help to put my mind at rest about Monica? You saw her a week
ago. Did she say anything, or give any sign, that might make one really
uneasy on her account?'

There was a struggle in Milly before she answered. Rhoda added--

'Perhaps you had rather not--'

'Yes, I had rather tell you. She said a good many strange things, and I
_have_ been uneasy about her. I wished I could speak to some one--'

'How strange that I should feel urged to ask you about this,' said
Rhoda, her eyes, peculiarly bright and keen, fix