Lady Sarah sat upright on her chair, her hands clasped together on her lap. The morning light gave a livid hue to the worn features, the bones in her neck seemed more prominent than ever. "But it is not my fault if she is old," was Mildred's obstinate comment. "She can't blame me for that, I suppose?" "Yes, it's quite true." "It is true! You heard me say that I was afraid of my rheumatism, and tried to persuade me that it was raining so that I might stay at home. You knew I was anxious to go, and you deliberately set to work to prevent me. Nice behaviour, indeed! I wonder you have the audacity to look in my face and acknowledge it!" "I never tell lies," said the girl proudly, and Lady Sarah interrupted with a harsh laugh. "No; you only act them, I suppose. It never struck you that it was acting a lie to go out of your way to deceive an old woman and make her stay at home on false pretences, did it?" Mildred started. "No, it never did. I did not think of that. If I had, I would not have done it." "And why did you do it? To prevent my going to the picnic, of course; but why were you so anxious about that? What harm would it have done if I had been there?" There was an unwonted strain of anxiety in the sharp voice, and the answer came but slowly. "Oh, I don't know! We had been looking forward to the picnic for the last week. We had done nothing but talk about it. Of course we didn't want to have it all spoiled." "As it would have been by my presence?" "Y-es." Mildred did not exactly relish saying so many unpalatable things, but all the same there was a kind of satisfaction in being obliged to tell this disagreeable old woman what was thought of her. Disagreeable and ungrateful, too! Had she forgotten all that had happened on the night of the picnic that she could greet her deliverer without one word of thanks? A wave of emotion passed over Lady Sarah's face as she heard that decisive answer. Her throat worked, her face was full of wistful appeal, as she looked at the unrelenting, girlish figure, but Mildred's eyes were cast down, and she saw nothing. "In what way were you afraid I should spoil your pleasure?" "Oh--in every way! You would have made us stay beside you all the time and forbidden us to run about; or--or sit on the outside of the coach, or--or speak to anyone--or do anything we liked. You said that we ought to come home by an early train. You wanted us to wear cloaks when we were boiling with heat. You would have corrected us before the others, as if we were little children. Oh!" cried Mildred impulsively, as all the fears of two days earlier came suddenly to remembrance, "it would have been miserable!"