mething to say to me.

'Well, Mary,' she began at once, 'what do you think of her?'

'Of Mrs. Darrell?'

'Of course.'

'What opinion can I possibly form about her, after seeing her for
three minutes, Milly? I think she is very elegant-looking. That is
the only idea I have about her yet.'

'Do you think she looks _true_, Mary? Do you think she has married
papa because she loves him?'

'My dear child, how can I tell that? She is a great many years
younger than your papa, but I do not see that the difference between
them need be any real hindrance to her loving him. He is a man whom
any woman might care for, I should think; to say nothing of her
natural gratitude towards the man who has rescued her from a
position of dependence.'

'Gratitude is all nonsense,' Miss Darrell answered impatiently. 'I
want to know that my father is loved as he deserves to be loved. I
shall never tolerate that woman unless I can feel sure of that.'

'I believe you are prejudiced against her already, Milly,' I said
reproachfully.

'I daresay I am, Mary. I daresay I feel unjustly about her; but I
don't like her face.'

'What is there in her face that you don't like?'

'O, I can't tell you that--an undefinable something. I have a sort of
conviction that she and I can never love each other.'

'It is rather hard upon Mrs. Darrell to begin with such a feeling as
that, Milly.'

'I can't help it. Of course I shall try to do my duty to her, for
papa's sake, and I shall do my best to conquer all these unchristian
feelings. But we cannot command our hearts, you know, Mary, and I
don't think I shall ever love my stepmother.'

She took me down to the drawing-room after this. It was half-past
six, and we were to dine at seven. The drawing-room was a long room,
with five windows opening on to the terrace, an old-fashioned-
looking room with panelled walls and a fine arched ceiling. The
wainscot was painted white, with gilt mouldings, and the cornice and
architraves of the doors were elaborately carved. The furniture was
white-and-gold like the walls, and in that spurious classical style
which prevailed during the first French Empire. The window-curtains
and coverings of sofas and chairs were of dark-green velvet.

A gentleman was standing in one of the open windows looking out at
the garden. He turned as Milly and I went in, and I recognised Mr.
Stormont. He came forward to shake hands with his cousin, and smiled
his peculiar slow smile at