‘I do so want to come home, Julian,’ she said.  ’Do you think there is any hope for me this midsummer?’

’I think there is every hope.  I think it is almost certain you will come home.’

‘O Julian, how glad I am!’

’But suppose there should be a surprise for you when you come home, Milly,—­a change that you may not quite like, at first?’

‘What change?’

‘Has your father told you nothing?’

’Nothing, except about his journeys from place to place, 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.