She was tired of him now, and got him out speedily. As she closed the
front door upon him, Mildred's door, down the hall, opened. Her head
appeared, an inquiring look upon her face. Mrs. Brindley nodded.
Mildred, her hair done close to her head, a dressing-robe over her
nightgown and her bare feet in little slippers, came down the hall. She
coiled herself up in a big chair in the library and lit a cigarette.
She looked like a handsome young boy.

"He told you?" she said to Mrs. Brindley.

"Yes," replied Cyrilla.

Silence. In all their intimate acquaintance there had never been an
approach to the confidential on either side. It was Cyrilla's notion
that confidences were a mistake, and that the more closely people were
thrown together the more resolutely they ought to keep certain barriers
between them. She and Mildred got on too admirably, liked each other
too well, for there to be any trifling with their relations--and
over-intimacy inevitably led to trifling. Mildred had restrained
herself because Mrs. Brindley had compelled it by rigid example. Often
she had longed to talk things over, to ask advice; but she had never
ventured further than generalities, and Mrs. Brindley had never
proffered advice, had never accepted opportunities to give it except in
the vaguest way. She had taught Mildred a great deal, but always by
example, by doing, never by saying what ought or ought not to be done.
Thus, such development of Mildred's character as there had been was
natural and permanent.

"He has put me in a peculiar position," said Mildred. "Or, rather, I
have let myself drift into a peculiar position. For I think you're
right in saying that oneself is always to blame. Won't you let me talk
about it to you, please? I know you hate confidences. But I've got
to--to talk. I'd like you to advise me, if you can. But even if you
don't, it'll do me good to say things aloud."

"Often one sees more clearly," was Cyrilla's reply--noncommittal, yet
not discouraging.

"I'm free to marry him," Mildred went on. "That is, I'm not married.
I'd rather not explain--"

"Don't," said Mrs. Brindley. "It's unnecessary."

"You know that it's Stanley who has been lending me the money to live
on while I study. Well, from the beginning I've been afraid I'd find
myself in a difficult position."

"Naturally," said Mrs. Brindley, as she paused.

"But I've always expected it to come in another way--not about
marriage, but--