“What’s the matter, Millie?” her mother asked, following her into her room where Belle was writing a letter to Clara Bute.  Mildred concluded to tell all, for she feared Roger might soon appear and occasion awkward explanations, so she said, “I felt, this morning, like having a glimpse of our old church and life.  I suppose it was very weak and foolish and I was well punished, for toward the end of the service I was thinking over old times, and it all very naturally brought some tears.  I looked around, and who, of all others, should be watching me but Roger Atwood!”

Belle sprang up and clapped her hands with a ringing laugh.  “That’s capital,” she cried.  “Didn’t I tell you, Millie, you couldn’t escape him?  You might just as well give in first as last.”

“Belle,” said Mildred, in strong irritation, “that kind of talk is unpardonable.  I won’t endure it, and if such nonsense is to be indulged in Roger Atwood cannot come here.  I shall at least have one refuge, and will not be persecuted in my own home.”

“Belle,” added Mrs. Jocelyn gravely, “since Mildred feels as she does, you must respect her feelings.  It would be indelicate and unwomanly to do otherwise.”

“There, Millie, I didn’t mean anything,” Belle said, soothingly.  “Besides I want Roger to come and see us, for he can be jolly good company if he has a mind to; and I believe he will come this afternoon or evening.  For my sake you must all treat him well, for I want some one to talk to once in a while—­some one that mamma will say is a ‘good, well-meaning young man.’  The Atwoods have all been so kind to us that we must treat him well.  It would be mean not to do so.  No doubt he’s all alone in the city, too, and will be lonely.”

“There is no need of his being in the city at all,” Mildred protested.  “I’ve no patience with his leaving those who need him so much.  I think of them, and am sure they feel badly about it, and likely enough are blaming me, when, if I had my way, he’d live and die in sight of his own chimney smoke.”

“Millie, you are unreasonable,” retorted Belle.  “Why hasn’t Roger Atwood as good a right to seek his fortune out in the world as other young men?  Papa didn’t stay on the old plantation, although they all wanted him to.  What’s more, he has as good a right to like you as you have to dislike him.  I may as well say it as think it.”

It was difficult to refute Belle’s hard common-sense, and her sister could only protest, “Well, he has no right to be stealthily watching me, nor to persecute me with unwelcome attentions.”

“Leave it all to me, Millie,” said her mother gently.  “I will manage it so that Belle can have his society occasionally, and we show our goodwill toward those who have been kind to us.  At the same time I think I can shield you from anything disagreeable.  He is pretty quick to take a hint; and you can soon show him by your manner that you wish him well, and that is all.  He’ll soon get over his half-boyish preference, or at least learn to hide it.  You give to his feelings more importance than they deserve.”