CHAPTER V
"Nor need we power or splendor,
Wide hall or lordly dome;
The good, the true, the tender —
These form the wealth of home."
Mrs. Hale.
Could that be home – that pretty, tasteful dwelling, embosomed in trees, shrubs, and vines? Mildred was half in doubt, for the house itself seemed to have grown as well as the vegetation that environed it. But yes, the stage was stopping: and there were father and Rupert at the gate, mother and the rest on the porch; every face beaming a joyous welcome.
How Mr. Lord envied them as the stage whirled him rapidly away, out of sight and hearing of the glad greetings!
We will not attempt to describe these: there were close embraces, tears of joy, low-breathed words of tenderness and love, of gratitude to Him who had preserved a beloved child in all her journeyings, and brought her to her home again in safety and health; and there were shouts of delight from the little ones, to whom it seemed half a lifetime since sister Milly went away.
"How we have missed you! and, oh, how glad we are to have you back again!" her mother said, looking smilingly at her, but with glistening eyes.
"She's changed," said Rupert, regarding her critically; "she's prettier than ever, and – and something else."
Zillah supplied the word – "More stylish."
"And you! why, you are a young lady!" exclaimed Mildred, gazing at her in astonishment.
"I'm fifteen, and taller than you, I do believe," returned Zillah, laughing and blushing.
"And how you're all grown!" Mildred went on, glancing round the circle.
"Except father and mother," laughed Rupert. "Haven't I nearly caught up to father in height?"
"So you have, and I shall be very proud of my big brother."
"Well, I declare, if you hain't come at last – thought you never was a comin'!" exclaimed a voice in Mildred's rear; and as she turned quickly about, a toil-hardened hand seized hers in a grasp that almost forced from her a little cry of pain.
"Yes," she said, "I have, and am very glad to find you here, Celestia Ann. You kept your promise."
"A heap better'n you did yours. Why you stayed more'n as long agin as you said you was agoin' to when you went off. Had a good time?"
"Yes; but I'm very glad to get home."
"So you'd ought to be. You look right down tired; and I reckon you are all that, and hungry, too. Well, I'll have dinner on table in about ten minutes;" and with the last word she vanished in the direction of the kitchen.
A look of expectant delight was on every face of the group about Mildred as the mother, saying, "Come, dear child, you will want to get rid of some of the dust of travel," led the way from the room, the others all following.
"Why, the house has grown too," was the young girl's delighted exclamation, as she was ushered into an apartment she had never seen before – large, airy, neatly and tastefully though inexpensively furnished; white muslin curtains at the windows, a snowy counterpane on the bed; everything new and fresh except the books in the hanging shelves on the wall, and some little ornaments which she recognized as her own peculiar property.
"Yes," her father answered, smiling fondly upon her, "so much so that we shall now have abundance of room, even with our eldest girl at home, and we hope it will be a very long while before she will want to run away again."
"Yes, indeed, father dear," she said, putting her arms around his neck; "oh, if you only knew how glad I am to get back!"
"This is your room, Milly; do you like it?" the children were asking in eager tones.
"Yes, yes, indeed! it is perfectly lovely! But, mother, it ought to be yours; it is larger and cheerier than yours."
"Ah! you are assuming to know more than you do, my child," laughed Mrs. Keith. "I, too, have one of the new rooms – there are six in all – and it is in every respect quite equal to this. But make haste with your toilet, for the dinner bell will soon ring."
They lingered at the table, eating slowly, because there was so much talking to be done – such pleasant, cheerful chat.
Then came the opening of Mildred's trunk, and the distribution of the purchases she had been commissioned to make, and of her own modest gifts to father, mother, brothers, and sisters, and the more expensive ones from Aunt Wealthy and the Dinsmore relatives. Of these last, little Elsie's were by far the most costly and valuable.
The children were wild with delight, the parents quietly happy in their pleasure, and gratified with the remembrances to themselves.
Mildred exhibited her watch and chain, calling forth exclamations of intense admiration and hearty congratulations.
"O sister Milly, how lovely!" cried Zillah; "I never saw anything so beautiful, and I'm so glad you have it! I don't believe there's another lady in town who has a gold watch."
"No, I presume not," returned Mildred, gazing down upon it with a pleased, but rather absent look, "and it is extremely pretty; yet not half so beautiful as the dear little giver." And then she launched out into the warmest of eulogies upon little Elsie – her loveliness of both person and disposition.
"She must have loads of money to buy you that splendid watch, and all these things for the rest of us," remarked Cyril.
"Yes, indeed! I'd like to be in her place," said Ada.
"I wouldn't," said Mildred; "and I don't believe you would, Ada, if you quite understood her position."
"Why?" the children asked, clustering close about their sister, with looks of surprise and eager interest; "tell us why. It must be nice to be so rich; to own houses and lands, and all sorts of things."
"Do not be too sure of that," said their father; "though poverty has its trials, wealth brings cares, and cannot of itself give happiness; in fact, it has sometimes proved a curse to its possessors. Remember our Saviour said, 'How hardly shall they that have riches enter into the kingdom of God.'"
"Yes," added Mrs. Keith; "and in another place he says, 'Take heed and beware of covetousness; for a man's life consisteth not in the abundance of the things which he possesseth.'"
"But some rich people are good, aren't they?" queried Cyril. "I'm sure Milly said Elsie was."
"But she's just a baby girl," put in Don, "and maybe she'll get bad by the time she grows up."
"Now, boys, keep quiet, can't you? and let's hear what Milly's going to tell," said Ada.
Mildred glanced at the nearly emptied trunk, the piles of clothing on the bed and chairs, and shook her head. "Another time, children; I ought to be putting these things in place in the wardrobe and bureau."
"Oh! you're too tired. Sit down in the rocking-chair and rest while you talk, and I'll help you afterward to arrange your things," Zillah said; and with a word of thanks Mildred yielded.
Taking Annis on her lap, and glancing with a half smile from one eager, expectant face to another, "What would any one of you sell all the rest for?" she asked.
Several pairs of young eyes opened wide with astonishment. "Why, Milly, what a question!" "Not for anything!" "Not for all the world! You know we wouldn't!" were the answering exclamations; and then there were loving looks exchanged, and Don gave Fan a hug, while Cyril squeezed her hand and patted Annis on her curly head.
"It would be dreadfully lonesome not to have any brothers or sisters!" he said, with a long-drawn sigh of satisfaction.
"Little Elsie has none," said Mildred. "But what if we had no mother, children?"
"Milly, don't! what makes you say such things!" cried Fan, hastily releasing herself from Don, and running to her mother to hide her face in her lap with a half sob.
"No; what's the use?" Zillah asked huskily, while Ada's eyes filled and the boys looked distressed, as though the idea was too painful to contemplate.
"Just to convince you that little Elsie is not so much to be envied by us. She has no mother, has never seen her father, and does not know whether he loves her or not."
"Does she show any desire to see him?" asked Mrs. Keith, stroking Fan's hair.
"Oh yes, mother! yes, indeed! She talks a great deal about him, often wishes he would come home, and is never more interested than when he is the theme of conversation."
"I hope her grandfather and his wife love and fondle her?"
"Not at all; they treat her with almost unvarying coldness and neglect!" Mildred said, her eyes sparkling with indignant anger.
Then she went on to tell of various acts of injustice and oppression to which the little girl had been subjected since her coming to Roselands, and to give a pathetic description of her loneliness and unsatisfied yearning for the love of her kindred. In conclusion, Mildred asked, "Now would any of you change places with her?"
"No, no, indeed we wouldn't! Poor dear little thing! we're very sorry for her," the children cried in chorus.
"Mother, mayn't Elsie come here and be your little girl 'long with us?" asked Annis.
"I should gladly take her, darling, if I could," Mrs. Keith answered; "but she belongs to her father, and it is he who directs where she shall live."
"Tell us some more, Milly; tell about that beautiful Viamede," entreated Ada, putting an arm coaxingly round her sister's neck.
"Some other time; but now I must really go to work and finish my unpacking."
"No, you must go into another room and lie down for an hour or two," said her mother. "You need rest and sleep; and your sisters and I will set things to rights here."
Mildred objected. "Mother, dear, I have come home to ease your burdens, not to add to them."
"And which will you do by wearing yourself out and getting sick?" asked the mother, with a merry look and smile. "Set these younger ones a good example by prompt obedience to my direction. We want you bright for a good long talk after tea."
"But, mother, you always have so much to tax your time and strength, and – "
"Run away now, without another word," was the playful reply. "I'm neither busy nor tired this afternoon."
So Mildred went, slept soundly for a couple of hours, and toward tea-time came down to the sitting-room, looking quite rested and refreshed; very sweet and pretty, too, they all thought, in new and tasteful attire, and with her glossy brown hair becomingly arranged.
She found her mother and the older girls sewing.
"How nice you look!" Zillah said, surveying her admiringly. "That's a lovely dress, and made so prettily! Will you let me have mine made like it?"
"Yes, indeed, and help you make it, too. Mother, how have you managed with the sewing while I've been gone?"
"Pretty well, Milly. Zillah has become quite a needle-woman, and Ada does remarkably well, too, considering her imperfect sight. Housework suits her best on that account. They are dear, helpful girls – both of them."
"Milly, Milly," cried Cyril, rushing in from the grounds, "come and look at our gardens, and our hens and chickens, before it grows too dark."
"The gardens aren't much to look at now," laughed Zillah.
"But she can see pretty well what they have been, and we'll tell her the rest," returned Cyril, leading the way.
"Come, girls, we'll all go," Mrs. Keith said, folding up her work; "the rest of the afternoon and evening shall be a holiday, in honor of our wanderer's return."
There was, in truth, little to exhibit in the gardens now, save a few late-blooming fall flowers; but Mildred admired them, and listened with interest to the accounts given of what had been raised by each little worker during the past spring and summer.
And there was really a large flock of fowls, all in fine condition, promising plenty of eggs and poultry even through the cold winter months; for Rupert had built a snug hen-house to protect these feathered friends from the inclemency of the weather.
"Now this way, Mildred; I want to show you the vines I've trained over the front porch," Rupert said.
As they stood looking at the vines, the front gate opened and shut, and a firm, elastic step came quickly up the walk. Mildred turned and found an old acquaintance at her side.
"Wallace – Mr. Ormsby!" she exclaimed, offering her hand in cordial greeting, though the rich color surged over her face with the sudden recollection of his parting words, spoken a year ago.
"No; keep to the first name, please," he said in an undertone, as he grasped her offered hand. "Excuse so early a call, but I did not know how to wait. It seems an age since you went away."
"We are always glad to see you, Wallace," said Mrs. Keith. "You must stay and take tea with us; it is nearly ready. Come, we will all go in now, for the air is growing chilly."
Ormsby was by no means loath to accept the invitation. Mildred seemed to him lovelier than ever, and his eyes were constantly seeking her face, when politeness did not require him to look elsewhere. Enchanted anew by her charms of person, manner, and conversation, he lingered for an hour or more after tea, watching, hoping for an opportunity to breathe some words into her ear which should reach no other.
But parents, brothers, and sisters clustered about her, and soon other neighbors began to drop in to bid her welcome home – Dr. Grange and his daughter, Claudina Chetwood and her brother Will, and one or two others of those who were most intimate with the family. Then a look from Mr. Keith reminding Wallace of an important paper which should be drawn up that evening, he took a reluctant leave.
He paused an instant at the gate to glance back regretfully at the brightly lighted parlor windows and the comfortable-looking group within, of which Mildred was the centre.
A tall, muscular figure was approaching from the opposite direction as Ormsby, turning away with a sigh, hurried down the street toward Mr. Keith's office. There was an exchange of greetings as the two passed each other. "Good-evening, Mr. Ormsby." "How d'ye do, Sheriff?" – and each hastened on his way.
The next moment the tall man was standing where Wallace had been but now, gazing intently in at the same group; though, in truth, he scarcely saw any but that central figure – the graceful, girlish form so tastefully attired; the bright, sweet face, full of animation and intellect. He could not take his eyes from her – great, dark eyes, hungry and wistful – as for many minutes he stood resting his left hand on the top of the gate, the right arm hanging at his side.
At last, with a sigh that was almost a groan, he, too, turned and went on his way.
"She's prettier than ever – the sweetest thing alive," he murmured half aloud, "and I'll never forgit how good she was to me in that awful time when even my mother couldn't stand by me. But, for all that, 'tain't no ways likely she cares enough for Gote Lightcap to so much as ask if he's alive or no."
CHAPTER VI
"Ah me! for aught that I could ever read,
Could ever hear by tale or history,
The course of true love never did run smooth."
Shakespeare.
The callers departed to their own homes. Mr. Keith called the household together, and, as usual, closed the day with prayer and praise and the reading of the word of God.
The good-nights were exchanged, and presently Mildred sat alone in her own room, slowly taking down her wealth of rich brown hair, while thought, half troubled, half pleasurable, was busy in her brain.
A gentle tap on the door, then it was softly opened, and her mother stood by her side.
Instantly the dreamy look left Mildred's eyes, and they were lustrous with love and joy as she lifted them to the sweet face bending over her.
"Darling mother!" she cried, hastening to rise and bring forward the easiest chair in the room, "I'm so glad you have come. I am longing so for one of our old quiet talks."
"Ah! I knew it," Mrs Keith said, taking the chair; "I saw it in your eyes, dear child, and am as anxious for it as yourself. Oh, it is nice to have you at home again!"
"And so nice to be here. Mother dear, there have been times when I felt in sore need of your wise, loving counsels."
Shaking out her abundant tresses, she seated herself on a cushion at her mother's feet and laid her head in her lap, as she had been wont to do in childhood's days.
"Then I trust you carried your perplexities to a wiser Friend, whose love is even greater than that of the tenderest mother," Mrs. Keith said, gently caressing the silken hair and the blooming cheek.
"Yes, mother. Ah! what could I have done without that Friend?"
Then, with blushes and tears, she poured out the story of her love, and her refusal to engage herself, because the chosen of her heart was not a Christian man.
Mrs. Keith was a little surprised, a trifle disappointed. "I had almost set my heart on having Wallace for my future son-in-law," she remarked in a playful tone, "and no such objection could be brought against him."
"No," said Mildred, half averting her blushing face; "he is good and noble and true – a sincere Christian, I do believe, and I heartily respect and like him; but, O mother! why is it that the course of true love never will run smooth?"
"I think it does sometimes; at least often enough to prove the rule."
"I was in hopes it might have been out of sight out of mind with Wallace," Mildred said presently.
"No; Cupid's arrow had gone too deep for that. But perhaps it may prove so with the other, and you may yet learn to care for poor Wallace."
"No, mother; I am sure, quite sure, that I can never give him anything but the sisterly affection that is already his. Mother, I know girls who think it must be a delightful thing to have a number of lovers, but I don't find it so, there is so much that is painful and perplexing connected with it."
"Perplexing, my child!"
"Yes, mother. Do you – do you think it can ever be the duty of one who cannot marry the man of her choice to become the wife of another because it will open to her a wider sphere of usefulness?"
"Why that question, Mildred?" asked Mrs. Keith, in grave surprise.
"Because Mr. – Mr. Lord thinks I ought – that it is my duty to – to marry him; and though he did not convince me, he – he made me afraid it might be."
A very mirthful look had come into Mrs. Keith's eyes.
"My dear, silly little girl," she said, bending down to get a better view of the blushing face, "why did you not tell him you are quite unfit for the position he offered you?"
"I did, mother," Mildred answered, with sincere humility, "but he – still insisted. He has somehow formed a very mistaken opinion of me."
"That is a pity; but we will not let him sacrifice himself. I shall utterly refuse consent, and so will your father."
"But don't you think him a good man?" Mildred asked, lifting her head and gazing into her mother's eyes with a look of mingled relief and perplexity.
"Very good, but very unsuitable in disposition and in years for a husband for you, or a son-in-law for me. His absent-mindedness would put a great deal of care on your young shoulders. But, my dear child, leaving the question of his character and suitableness in other respects entirely out of sight, the fact that you prefer another is quite sufficient of itself to make your acceptance of his suit both foolish and wrong. Nothing can make it right for man or woman to marry one while his or her heart turns more strongly to another. As to his argument that thus a wider sphere of usefulness would be opened to you, all I have to say is, that it is not, cannot ever be right to do evil that good may come."
Mildred drew a long sigh of relief. "O mother, I am so thankful that you take that view of it! and I am sure it is the right one. You have lifted half my load, but – "
"Can you not cast the other half on the Lord?"
"I do try to. But, mother, what do you think? would it be wrong for me to – "
"Follow the dictates of your heart?" Mrs. Keith asked, as Mildred paused, leaving the sentence unfinished. "My child, that is a question for you to settle with your own conscience. You have God's holy word to guide you, and in answer to prayer he will give you the guidance of the Spirit also. I will only say that it cannot be other than a dangerous experiment for a Christian to enter into the closest of earthly relations with one who is living for this world alone."
"Especially one so weak and ready to wander out of the way as I," sighed the young girl.
"Well, darling, you are young enough to wait; and let us hope all will come right at length. Ah! we may be sure of it, for 'we know that all things work together for good to them that love God; to them who are the called according to his purpose.' But it is growing late, and you ought to be resting after your long journey." And with a tender good-night they parted.
Mr. Lord filled his own pulpit the next day, both morning and evening, preaching with acceptance to his flock.
Mildred attended both services, but carefully avoided meeting the speaker's eye during the sermon, and slipped out of the church as quickly as possible after the benediction was pronounced. Each time she was delayed a little in her exit by the necessity of stopping for a shaking of hands and the exchange of a few words with friends and neighbors who stepped forward to greet and welcome her home; but others were crowding about the minister with the same kindly intent, and thus unconsciously assisted in her desired avoidance of him.
She was little less anxious to escape Wallace Ormsby, but in that was not so successful: he walked by her side in the morning, as far as their roads lay in the same direction; yet as Don held fast to one of Mildred's hands and Fan to the other, his talk was only on topics of general interest, the sermon, the Sunday-school, etc.
In the evening, as she stepped into the vestibule, she saw Wallace waiting near the outer door, and read his purpose in his eyes. She turned to Zillah, who was close beside her, seized her hand, and, holding it fast, whispered in her ear, "We'll walk home together. Be sure to keep close to me."
Zillah nodded with a roguish smile, and, to Wallace's no small annoyance, did as requested. Offering one arm to Mildred, he could do no less than ask Zillah to take the other, which she did with alacrity. And all the way home she kept up a constant stream of talk, Mildred listening with inward amusement, Wallace wondering whether it was with a purpose, and wishing she was somewhere out of earshot of what he wanted to say to her sister.
The Keiths neither paid nor received visits on the Sabbath: so he bade the girls good evening at their father's door, and quietly wended his way to his lonely bachelor quarters over the office; while the girls, listening to his departing footsteps, exchanged a few words of congratulation on the one side and thanks on the other, mingled with a little girlish laughter at his expense.
"Mother," said Mildred, as they were about separating for the night, "I will be up in good season to-morrow morning and get breakfast, as Celestia Ann will of course be busy with her washing."
"Indeed you'll do no such thing," cried Zillah. "Ada and I will get breakfast and dinner to-morrow, and you're not to so much as put your nose into the kitchen. You're to play lady for a week at least, while you look on and see how nicely we can manage without you."
"I've played lady long enough, and – "
"Mother, isn't it to be as I've said?" demanded Zillah, not giving Mildred time to conclude her sentence.
"Yes, Milly, you and I can find enough to do out of the kitchen for the present, and we will let these young cooks have a chance to show what they can do," Mrs. Keith said, looking from one to the other with a proud, fond, motherly smile.
"I like to cook," put in Ada. "Milly, I can make nice cakes and desserts; they all say so. And Zillah and I made pickles and preserves this fall, mother only overseeing and telling us how. Celestia Ann wanted to turn us out of the kitchen and do it all herself, but mother said no – we must learn how."
Monday morning found the Keith household like a hive of cheerful, busy bees. Mrs. Keith and Mildred, busied together in the dining-room, washing and putting away the breakfast china and silver, which were never allowed to go into the kitchen, laid plans for the fall and winter sewing.
"I have been learning to cut and fit, mother," Mildred said; "taking lessons of one of Aunt Dinsmore's servants who is excellent at it; so now, if you like, I shall fit all the dresses of the family, beginning to-day with Ada's and Zillah's calicoes."
"I'm very glad, my dear," Mrs. Keith replied, "for really there is not a competent dressmaker in town. But I see I shall have to take care that you do not overwork yourself," she added, with an affectionate smile.
"Mother," said Zillah, putting her head in at the door, "we're nearly out of salt and sugar both. Who shall go for them?"
"Cyril and Don; it is a lovely day, and they will enjoy the walk. Mildred, there will be some little articles wanted about our dressmaking; suppose you go also and select them. The walk will be good for you, and you will like to see how the town has grown in your absence."
Fan and Annis put in an eager plea to be permitted to be of the party.
Mildred demurred. "I'm afraid, Annis, darling, you can't walk fast enough. Sister Milly wants to come back quickly because of the sewing."
"Never mind that; we will not deprive the darling of so great a pleasure merely to save a few minutes," the mother said, with a loving smile at the little, disappointed face, which instantly grew bright again. "Linger a little on the way, Mildred, and enjoy the sweet air and the beauty of the woods. These things were given for our enjoyment."
"Dearest mother! always so kind and thoughtful for each one of us," Mildred whispered, bending over her mother's chair to kiss the still fresh and blooming cheek.
Mildred had returned to her home entirely restored to health, and full of the old energy, and with a desire to accomplish a great deal in the way of relieving her mother's cares and burdens and promoting the material interests of each member of the family of loved ones. She had planned to do a certain amount of sewing that day, and was eager to begin; but she was learning the difficult lesson of readiness to cheerfully yield her own plans and wishes to those of others, remembering that "even Christ pleased not himself."
With a face bright and sweet as the lovely October morning she made herself ready and set out on her errand; Fan clinging to one hand, Annis to the other, while the two little brothers now brought up the rear, now hastened on in front, or trotted alongside, as inclination dictated.
"Yonder comes the sheriff; we'll meet him in a minute," said Cyril presently.
"Who is sheriff now?" asked Mildred.
"Gotobed Lightcap. He's learned to write with his left hand, and they 'lected him sheriff last week. Everybody voted for him because they were so sorry for him. Wasn't it nice? Mother says the folks in this town are the kindest people in the world, she thinks."
"Yes, it was nice and kind," Mildred responded, looking a little curiously at the tall, broad-shouldered, masculine figure approaching from the opposite direction. In dress, in gait, in the intelligence of his countenance, he was an improvement upon the Gotobed of two years ago.
In another moment they had met. He lifted his hat with his left hand and bowed a little awkwardly, while a deep-red flush suffused his swarthy face.
Mildred colored slightly too, but greeted him cordially and without any other show of embarrassment, inquiring after his health and that of his family.
"We're all as well as common, thank ye, Miss Keith," he said, devouring her face with his eyes, "and I hope you're the same, and as glad to git back as all your friends is to see ye."
"Thank you, I do find it nice to be at home again," she responded, bowing and passing on.
Their way lay past her father's office. Ormsby, looking up from the deed he was drawing and catching a glimpse of her graceful figure as it hurried by, sprang up and stepped to the door just in time to see her go into Chetwood & Mocker's.
He was on the watch for her as she came out again, and waylaid her with an invitation to drive out with him that afternoon.
"Thank you," she said, with a winsome smile; "I fully appreciate your kindness, but – don't you think, after my long vacation, I ought now to stay at home and work? I had planned to do a good deal of sewing to-day."
"But the weather is so fine, and we ought to take advantage of these lovely days, which will so soon be gone," he said persuasively. "Let the sewing wait; 'twill be just the thing for the stormy days that will soon be upon us. I may come for you?"
"Yes," she answered, laughing and nodding good-by.
Zillah met her at the door, her eyes dancing with fun. "Mr. Lord's in the parlor with mother, and you're wanted there too."
"Oh, dear!" sighed Mildred; but, throwing off her hat in the hall, she went at once to meet the dreaded ordeal.
The gentleman rose on her entrance, and with beaming eyes and outstretched hand came eagerly forward to greet her. "My dear Miss Mildred, I have been telling your mother of my plans and wishes, and asking her consent and approval of my – the proposal I made to you the other day; and – "
"And she has declined to give them?" Mildred said, allowing him to take her hand for an instant, then hastily withdrawing it, her eyes seeking her mother's face, while her own flushed crimson.
"Yes, I have been trying for the last half hour to convince Mr. Lord how entirely unsuitable you are for the place and position he offers you," Mrs. Keith answered in a grave, quiet tone. "Come and sit down here by me," making room for her on the sofa by her side, "and we will try together to convince him."
"That will be no easy task," remarked the middle-aged lover, as Mildred hastened to accept her mother's invitation; then, standing before them and fixing his eyes admiringly upon the blushing, downcast face of the maiden, he went on to plead his cause with all the force and eloquence of which he was master.
He spoke very rapidly, as if fearful of interruption, and determined to forestall all objections, Mildred listening in some embarrassment and with much inward disgust and impatience.