180 THE SILVER FOX 



the letter. As she took it out of the 

 envelope she saw her own name and that of 

 Glasgow ; and in one blinding moment read 

 the sentence that connected them. There 

 was a pause. She looked up and saw the 

 innocent and awe-struck eyes of the children 

 fixed on her as they stood, too frightened 

 to come near the prostrate figure in the red 

 coat. She put the letter into her own 

 po*cket, and opening out the envelope wrote 

 on it her demand for help, for a doctor, for 

 a carriage from French's Court. The final 

 '' We will, miss," was murmured, the red 

 legs carried the children down the hill at 

 full speed, till the rhythmic clauking of the 

 milk-can died away. 



Let her not be blamed if her first thought 

 was for herself and her position. Her seven- 

 and-twenty years, her careless and daring 

 flirtations, and her marriage, had not taught 

 her what it was to be in love. She knew 

 that Hugh was in love with her; it was 

 a comfortable knowledge, pleasant and 

 commonplace as sunshine, and she had no 



