[Mildred was writing to Richard; his last letter lay open beside her on the table. Polly had glanced at it once or twice, but she had not questioned Mildred concerning its contents. Polly had fallen into very quiet ways lately; the pretty pink colour had never returned to her face, the light footstep was slower now, the merry laugh was less often heard, a sweet wistful smile had replaced it; she was still the same busy active Polly, gentle and affectionate, as of old, but some change, subtle yet undefinable, had passed over the girl. Dr. Heriot liked the difference, even though he marvelled at it. 'Polly is looking quite the woman,' he would say presently. Mildred paused, a little startled over Polly's abrupt question.] 'Richard does not say; it is not in his letter, my dear,' she stammered. 'Not in this one, perhaps, but in his last,' persisted Polly. 'Try to remember, Aunt Milly; how does Richard say that Rex occupies himself?' 'I am afraid he is very idle,' returned Mildred, reluctantly. Polly coloured, and looked distressed. 'But his foot is better; he is able to stand, is he not?' 'I believe so. Richard certainly said as much as that.' 'Then it is very wrong for him to be losing time like this; he will not have his picture in the Academy after all. Some one ought to write and remind him,' faltered Polly, with a little heat. 'I have done so more than once, and Richard is for ever lecturing. Roy is terribly desultory, I am afraid.' 'Indeed you are wrong, Aunt Milly,' persisted the girl earnestly. 'Roy loves his work--dearly--dearly--it is only his foot, and--' she broke down, recovered herself, and hurried on-- 'I think it would be a good thing if Dad Fabian were to go and talk to him. I will write to him--yes, and I will write to Roy.' Mildred did not venture to dissuade her; she had a notion that perhaps Polly's persuasion might be more efficacious than Richard's arguments. She took it quite as a matter of course, when, half an hour later, Polly laid the little note down beside her. 'There, you may read it,' she said, hurriedly. 'Let it go in Richard's letter; he may read it too, if he likes.' It was very short, and covered the tiniest sheet of note-paper; the pretty handwriting was not quite so steady as usual.