Milly Darrell and Other Tales | Page 6

the mantelpiece there was a large photograph of her father, and by
the bedside there hung a more flattering water-coloured portrait,
painted by Milly herself. It was a powerful and rather a handsome face,
but I thought the expression a little hard and cold, even in Milly's
portrait.
She painted well, and had a real love of art. Her studies at Albury
Lodge were of rather a desultory kind, as she was not supposed to
belong to any class; but she had lessons from nearly half-a-dozen
different masters--German lessons, Italian lessons, drawing lessons,
music and singing lessons--and was altogether a very profitable pupil.
She had her own way with every one, I found, and I believe Miss
Bagshot was really fond of her.
Her father was travelling in Italy at this time, and did not often write to

her--a fact that distressed her very much, I know; but she used to shake
off her sorrow in a bright hopeful way that was peculiar to her, always
making excuses for the dilatory correspondent. She loved him intensely,
and keenly felt this separation from him; but the doctors had
recommended him rest and change of air and scene, she told me, and
she was glad to think he was obeying them.
Upon one of these half-holidays, when midsummer was near at hand,
we were interrupted by an unwonted event, in the shape of a visit from
a cousin of Milly's; a young man who occupied an important position in
her father's house of business, and of whom she had sometimes talked
to me, but not much. His name was Julian Stormont, and he was the
only son of Mr. Darrell's only sister, long since dead.
It was a sultry afternoon, and we were spending it in a rustic
summer-house at the end of a broad gravel that went the whole length
of the large garden. Milly had her drawing materials on the table before
her, but had not been using them. I was busy with a piece of
fancy-work which Miss Susan Bagshot had given me to finish. We
were sitting like this, when my old acquaintance Sarah, the housemaid,
came to announce a visitor for Miss Darrell.
Milly sprang to her feet, flushed with excitement.
'It must be papa!' she cried joyfully.
'Lor', no, miss; don't you go to excite yourself like that. It isn't your pa;
it's a younger gentleman.'
She handed Milly a card.
'Mr. Stormont!' the girl exclaimed, with a disappointed air; 'my cousin
Julian. I am coming to him, of course, Sarah. But I wish you had given
me the card at once.'
'Won't you go and do somethink to your hair, miss? most young ladies
do.'

'O yes, I know; there are girls who would stop to have their hair done in
Grecian plaits, if the dearest friend they had in the world was waiting
for them in the drawing-room. My hair will do well enough,
Sarah.--Come, Mary, you'll come to the house with me, won't you?'
'Lor', miss, here comes the gentleman,' said Sarah; and then decamped
by an obscure side-path.
'I had better leave you to see him alone, Milly,' I said; but she told me
imperatively to stay, and I stayed.
She went a little way to meet the gentleman, who seemed pleased to see
her, but whom she received rather coldly, as I thought. But I had not
long to think about it, before she had brought him to the summer-house,
and introduced him to me.
'My cousin Julian--Miss Crofton.'
He bowed rather stiffly, and then seated himself by his cousin's side,
and put his hat upon the table before him. I had plenty of time to look
at him as he sat there talking of all sorts of things connected with
Thornleigh, and Miss Darrell's friends in that neighbourhood. He was
very good-looking, fair and pale, with regular well-cut features, and
rather fine blue eyes; but I fancied those clear blue eyes had a cold look,
and that there was an expression of iron will about the mouth and
powerful prominent chin. The upper part of the face was thoughtful,
and there were lines already on the high white forehead, from which the
thin straight chestnut hair was carefully brushed. It was the face of a
very clever man, I thought; but I was not so sure that it was the face of
a man I could like, or whom I should be inclined to trust.
Mr. Stormont had a low pleasant voice and an agreeable manner of
speaking. His way of treating his cousin was half deferential, half
playful; but once, when I looked up suddenly from my work, I seemed
to catch a glimpse of a deeper meaning in the cold blue eyes--a look of
singular intensity fixed on Milly's bright