Upwards of an hour later they were sitting under the great trees of Kensington, those scattered, in the Gardens, over the slope which rises gently from the side of the water most distant from the old red palace. They had taken possession of a couple of the chairs placed there to the convenience of that superior part of the public for which a penny is not prohibitive, and Millicent, of whom such speculations were highly characteristic, had devoted considerable conjecture to the question of whether the functionary charged with collecting the penny would omit to come and demand his fee. Miss Henning liked to enjoy her pleasures _gratis_ as well as to see others do so, and even that of sitting in a penny chair could touch her more deeply in proportion as she might feel she was “doing” some vested interest by it. The man came round, however, and after that her pleasure could only take the form of sitting as long as possible, to recover her money. This issue had been met, and two or three others of a much weightier kind had come up. At the moment we again participate in them she was leaning forward, earnest and attentive, her hands clasped in her lap and her multitudinous silver bracelets tumbled forward on her thick wrists. Her face, with its parted lips and eyes clouded to gentleness, wore an expression Hyacinth had never seen there before and which caused him to say to her: “After all, dear Milly, you’re a sweet old boy!” “Why did you never tell me before—years ago?” she asked. “It’s always soon enough to make a fool of one’s self! I don’t know why I’ve slobbered over to-day—sitting here in a charming place, in balmy air, amid pleasing suggestions and without any reason or practical end. The story’s hideous and I’ve kept it down so long! It would have been an effort to me, an impossible effort at any time, to do otherwise. Somehow, just now it hasn’t been an effort; and indeed I’ve spoken just _because_ the air’s sweet and the place ornamental and the day a holiday and your person so lovely and your presence so moving. All this has had the effect an object has if you plunge it into a cup of water—the water overflows. Only in my case it’s not water, but a very foul liquid indeed. Pardon the bad odour!” There had been a flush of excitement in Millicent’s face while she listened to what had gone before; it lingered, and as a fine colour still further refined by an access of sensibility is never unbecoming to a handsome woman it enriched her unwonted expression. “I wouldn’t have been so rough with you,” she presently remarked. “My dear lass, _this_ isn’t rough!” Hyacinth protested. “You’re all of a tremble.” She put out her hand and laid it on his own as if she had been a nurse feeling his pulse. “Very likely. I’m a nervous little beast,” he said.