and not
much about them. He has written very seldom during the last six
months.'

'He has been too much engaged, I suppose; and it's rather like him
to have said nothing about it. How would you like a stepmother,
Milly?'

She gave a little cry, and grew suddenly pale.

'Papa has married again!' she said.

Julian Stormont drew a newspaper from his pocket, and laid it before
her, pointing to an announcement in one column:

'On May 18th, at the English legation in Paris, William Darrell,
Esq., of Thornleigh, Yorkshire, to Augusta, daughter of the late
Theodore Chester, Esq., of Regent's Park.'

He read this aloud very slowly, watching Milly's pale face as he
read.

'There is no reason why this should distress you, my dear child,' he
said. 'It was only to be expected that your father would marry
again, sooner or later.'

'I have lost him!' she cried piteously.

'Lost him!'

'Yes; he can never be again the same to me that he has been. His new
wife will come between us. No, Julian, I am not jealous. I do not
grudge him his happiness, if this marriage can make him happy. I
only feel that I have lost him for ever.'

'My dear Milly, that is utterly unreasonable. Your father told me
most particularly to assure you of his unaltered affection, when I
broke the news of this marriage to you. He was naturally a little
nervous about doing it himself.'

'You must never let him know what I have said, Julian. He will never
hear any expression of regret from me; and I will try to do my duty
to this strange lady. Have you seen her yet?'

'No, they have not come home yet. They were in Switzerland when I
heard of them last; but they are expected in a week or two. Come, my
dear Milly, don't look so serious. I trust this marriage may turn
out for your happiness, as well as for your father's. Rely upon it,
you will find no change in his feelings towards you.'

'He will always be kind and good to me, I know,' she answered sadly.
'It is not possible for him to be anything but that; but I can never
be his companion again as I have been. There is an end to all that.'

'That was a kind of association which could not be supposed to last
all your life, Milly. It is to be hoped that somebody else will have
a claim upon your companionship before many years have gone by.'

'I suppose you mean that I shall marry,' she said, looking at him
with supreme indifference.

'Something like that, Milly.'

'I have always fancied myself liv