She seemed to spend hours every Saturday afternoon at Mr. Dodds'. "He's teaching me some new German music," she told Joan, when questioned. Milly had become a great letter writer; she was always writing letters these days, and always receiving them. She made a practice of collecting her post before the family came down to breakfast, slipping out of the bedroom on any transparent pretext. But gradually a subtle change began to come over Milly; some of the bravado left her, its place being taken by a queer, resentful desire to please; it was almost as though she were frightened. She offered to run errands for Joan, but was quick to take offence if her offer were refused. She was no longer so secretive either, and seemed to welcome occasions for confidential talks. When they were in bed at nights she tossed and complained of sleeplessness; she was constantly hinting at some secret that she would gladly divulge if pressed. But Joan did not press her; she was growing sick of Milly. One morning it happened that Joan herself went early to the letter-box; Milly had overslept, and was in her bath. Among some circulars and a few bills, there was a letter addressed to "Miss Ogden" in a neat clerical hand. She opened it and read, turning white with anger as she did so. The letter was fulsome in its details, leaving nothing to the imagination. So this was how Milly spent her Saturday afternoons! Not in learning new music with innocent little Mr. Dodds, but hiding guiltily in an old sand-pit on the downs, with Mr. Thompson of the circulating library. Indulging herself in vulgar sensuality like any kitchen-maid courting disaster. Here then was the explanation of the man's impertinence, of her sister's new-found desire to propitiate; this then was Milly's revenge for her wrong, this low intrigue with a common tradesman in their own town. She tore upstairs with the letter in her hand. Milly was only half dressed and looked round in surprise as the door burst open. Joan held the letter out towards her. "This!" she panted. "This _beastly_ thing!" Milly saw the handwriting and turned pale. "How dare you open my letters, Joan?" "_I_ open your letters? Look at the envelope; he forgot to put your Christian name; it came addressed to me." Milly snatched the letter away. "You beast!" she said furiously, "you cad! you needn't have read it all through." "I didn't read it all through, but I read enough to know what you've been doing. Good God! You--you common little brute!"