"Oh, how Stanmore would like to hear you," he remarked, naming one of the pet artists of the New Art school. "Why, Judy, you are a democrat; we should have no Academy if we listened to you, you little rebel; but then, I forgot, of course you are a mutineer--you are true to your character through everything." Hilda scarcely listened as the young man and the child chatted and laughed together, her heart was dwelling altogether in the future. She fancied herself even now driving to the play by her husband's side; she saw the pretty dress she meant to wear; in her mind was reflected as in a picture the image of her fair self, and the image also of the man who was still in her heart lover as well as husband. No matter for the present cloud, he was still her lover. She wondered if he would give her another tender glance, and if, as they sat side by side when the curtain was up and the actors were moving about on the stage, he would touch her hand with his, and show her in that way that she was forgiven. "If he would only understand that I must keep both my vows," she murmured, "if I could only get him to really comprehend that much, much as I love my Judy, I would rather be alone with him--that is, I would rather be alone with him, if it makes him unhappy to have my sweet little Judy in the house. But how happy she is since I brought her home; how gay her voice sounds now." "I said you were a mutineer," laughed Rivers. "I know by your manner that you will never put up with the inevitable." "Don't!" said Judy; Hilda was looking at a lovely landscape, a friend she knew came up and spoke to her. "Don't!" said Judy, turning and looking full at the young man; her eyes were grave, her childish face grew suddenly white and drawn. "Perhaps I am going to give up being a mutineer," she murmured. CHAPTER XVI. A LITTLE GIRL AND A LITTLE CROSS. Love that hath us in the net, Can he pass, and we forget? Many suns arise and set, Many a chance the years beget. Love the gift is love the debt. Even so. Love is hurt with jar and fret. Love is made a vague regret. Eyes with idle tears are wet. Idle habit links us yet, What is love? for we forget: Ah, no! no! --TENNYSON. Mrs. Quentyns and Judy enjoyed their lunch with Rivers. They went into the Park afterward for a short time, and then Hilda, remembering that the hours were flying, and that she must be dressed and ready to receive her husband before six that evening, bade the young man a hasty good-by, and drove home with Judy. "I am so glad you are going to the play," said the little girl. "Why don't you often go--why don't you constantly go out in the evening?" "If I did, Judy, what a dull time you'd have."