CHAPTER XI.
Mrs.Hill had a pretty little bedizened boudoir, blue silk hangings elegantly festooned with bird cages; couches and divans for its mistress's dogs and cats; with a spare seat for a friend who might venture in at any time for a dish of private chit-chat with the lady of the Hall.

Into this apartment I was confidentially drawn by Mrs.Hill on the morning after my moonlight conversation with John, as with heavy eyes and hectic cheeks, but with a saucy tongue in reserve, specially sharpened, and a chin held at the extreme angle of self-complacency and no toleration of interference from others, I was sailing majestically down-stairs to put my melancholy finger as usual into the pie of the pleasures and pastimes of the day.
"Come in, my dear," she said mysteriously, with her finger to her lip, nodding her little fat face good-humouredly at me, and making all her little curls shake.

"I think you are a very safe person, my love, and, besides, so fond of Rachel.

I would not trouble you with my news, only that it is a secret, and a secret is a thing that I never could endure for any length of time without bringing on hysterics.

You are not fond of my darlings, I know.