her, can go; but I am sure she does
not like me. I have surprised her more than once looking at me with
the strangest expression--a calculating, intensely thoughtful look,
that made her face ten years older than it is at other times. Of
course there are times when we are thrown together alone--though this
does not occur often, for she and my father are a most devoted
couple, and spend the greater part of every day together--and I have
noticed at those times that she never speaks of her girlhood, or of
any part of her life before her marriage. All that came before seems
a blank page, or a sealed volume that she does not care to open. I
asked some trifling question about her father once, and she turned
upon me almost angrily.

"I do not care to speak about him, Milly," she said; "he was not a
good father, and he is best forgotten. I never had a real friend
till I met my husband."

'There is one part of her character which I am bound to appreciate.
I believe that she is really grateful and devoted to papa, and he
certainly seems thoroughly happy in her society. The marriage had
the effect which I felt sure it must have--it has divided us two most
completely; but if it has made him happy, I have no reason to
complain. What could I wish for beyond his happiness?

'And now, Milly, for my news. Julian Stormont has been here, and has
asked me to be his wife.

'He came over last Saturday afternoon, intending to stop with us
till Monday morning. It was a bright warm day here, and in the
afternoon he persuaded me to walk to Cumber Church with him. You
remember the way we drove through the wood the day we went to the
Priory, I daresay; but there is a nearer way than that for foot
passengers, and I think a prettier one--a kind of cross-cut through
the same wood. I consented willingly enough, having nothing better
to do with myself, and we had a pleasant walk to church, talking of
all kinds of things. As we returned Julian grew very serious, and
when we were about half way upon our journey, he asked me if I could
guess what had brought him over to Thornleigh. Of course I told him
that I concluded he had come as he usually did--for rest and change
after the cares of business, and to talk about business affairs with
papa.

'He told me he had come for something more than that. He came to
tell me that he had loved me all his life; that there was nothing my
father would like better than our union if it could secure my
happiness, a