Milly Darrell and Other Tales | Page 3

you are very happy to
have so many at home. I have only papa.'
'Indeed!' I said, not feeling deeply interested in her affairs.
I looked at her as she stood leaning a little against the end of the table,
and playing idly with a bunch of charms and lockets hanging to her

gold chain. She was very handsome, a brunette, with a small straight
nose, hazel eyes, and dark-brown hair. Her mouth was the prettiest and
most expressive I ever saw in my life, and gave an indescribable charm
to her face. She was handsomely dressed in violet silk, with rich white
lace about the throat and sleeves.
'You will find things much pleasanter when the girls come back. Of
course school is always a little dreary compared with home; one is
prepared for that; but I have no doubt you will contrive to be happy,
and I hope we shall be very good friends. I think you must be the Miss
Crofton I have heard spoken of lately?'
'Yes, my name is Crofton--Mary Crofton.'
'And mine is Emily Darrell. Milly I am always called at home, and by
any one who likes me. I am a parlour-boarder, and have the run of the
house, as it were. I am rather old to be at school, you see; but I am
going home at the end of this year. I was brought up at home with a
governess until about six months ago; but then papa took it into his
head that I should be happier amongst girls of my own age, and sent me
off to school. He has been travelling since that time, and so I have not
been home for the Christmas holidays. I can't tell you what a
disappointment that was.'
I tried to look sympathetic, and, not knowing exactly what to say, I
asked whether Miss Darrell's father lived in that neighbourhood.
'O dear, no,' she answered; 'he lives nearly a hundred miles away, in a
very wild part of Yorkshire, not far from the sea. But Thornleigh--that
is the name for our house--is a dear old place, and I like our bleak wild
country better than the loveliest spot in the world. I was born there, you
see, and all my happy memories of my childhood and my mother are
associated with that dear old home.'
'Is it long since you lost your mother?'
'Ten years. I loved her so dearly. There are some subjects about which
one dare not speak. I cannot often trust myself to talk of her.'

I liked her better after this. At first her beauty and her handsome dress
had seemed a little overpowering to me; I had felt as if she were a being
of another order, a bright happy creature not subject to the common
woes of life. But now that she had spoken of her own sorrows, I felt
that we were upon a level; and I stole my hand timidly into hers, and
murmured some apology for my previous rudeness.
'You were not rude, dear. I know I must have seemed very intrusive
when I disturbed you; but I could not bear to hear you crying like that.
And now tell me where you sleep.'
I described the room as well as I could.
'I know where you mean,' she said; 'it's close to my room. I have the
privilege of a little room to myself, you know; and on half- holidays I
have a fire there, and write my letters, or paint; and you must come and
sit with me on these afternoons, and we can be as happy as possible
together working and talking. Do you paint?'
'A little--in a schoolgirlish fashion kind of way.'
'Quite as well as I do, I daresay,' Miss Darrell answered, laughing gaily,
'only you are more modest about it. O, here comes your supper; may I
sit with you while you eat it?'
'I shall be very glad if you will.'
'I hope you have brought Miss Crofton a good supper, Sarah,' she went
on in the same gay girlish way.--'Sarah is a very good creature, you
must know, Miss Crofton, though she seems a little grim to strangers.
That's only a way of hers: she can smile, I assure you, though you'd
hardly think so.'
Sarah's hard-looking mouth expanded into a kind of grin at this.
'There's no getting over you, Miss Darrell,' she said; 'you've got such a
way of your own. I've brought Miss Crofton some cold beef; but if
she'd like a bit of pickle, I wouldn't mind going to ask cook for it. Cold

meat does eat a little dry without pickle.'
This 'bit of pickle' was evidently a concession in my favour made to
please Emily Darrell. I thanked Sarah, and told her