‘Something like that, Milly.’

’I have always fancied myself living all my life with papa.  I have never thought it possible that I could care for any one but him.’

Julian Stormont’s face darkened a little, and he sat silent for some minutes, folding and refolding the newspaper in a nervous way.

‘You are not very complimentary to your admirers at Thornleigh,’ he said at last, with a short hoarse laugh.

‘Who is there at Thornleigh?  Have I really any admirers there?’

‘I think I could name half-a-dozen.’

’Never mind them just now.  I want you to tell me all you know about my stepmother.’

’That amounts to very little.  All I can tell you is, that she is the daughter of a gentleman, highly accomplished, without money, and four-and-twenty years of age.  She was travelling as companion to an elderly lady when your father met her in a picture-gallery at Florence.  He knew the old lady, I believe, and by that means became acquainted with the younger one.’

‘Only four-and-twenty! only four years older than I!’

’Rather young, is it not? but when a man of your father’s age makes a second marriage, he is apt to marry a young woman.  Of course this is quite a love-match.’

‘Yes, quite a love-match,’ Milly repeated, with a sigh.

I knew she could not help that natural pang of jealousy, as she thought how she and her father had once been all the world to each other.  She had told me so often of their happy companionship, the perfect confidence that had existed between them.

Julian Stormont sat talking to her—­and a little, a very little, to me—­for about half an hour longer, and then departed.  He was to sleep at Fendale, and go back to North Shields next morning.  He was his uncle’s right hand in the business, Milly told me; and from the little I had seen of him I could fancy him a power in any sphere.

‘Papa has a very high opinion of him,’ she said, when we were talking of him after he had left us.

‘And you like him very much, I suppose?’

’O yes, I like him very well.  I have known him all my life.  We are almost like brother and sister; only Julian is one of those thoughtful reserved persons one does not get on with very fast.’

CHAPTER III.

AT THORNLEIGH.

The midsummer holidays began at last, and Mr. Darrell came in person to fetch his daughter, much to her delight.  She was not to return to school any more unless she liked, he told her.  Her new mamma was most anxious to receive her, and she could have masters at Thornleigh to complete her education, if it were not already finished.

Her eyes were full of tears when she came to tell me this, and carry me off to the drawing-room to introduce me to her father, an introduction she insisted upon making in spite of my entreaties,—­for I was rather shy at this period of my life, and dreaded an encounter with a stranger.