Jennette Lee

“ And Milly shook her head. "It is not so easy as that—finding things! I wish it were. Sometimes I think it is as hard to catch a thief—as to paint a picture, or write a poem!" she said laughingly.
"A poem?" repeated the woman, with puzzled eyes. "A—poem?"
"Yes. For days you think and feel and look, and nothing happens, and then, all in a minute, you have it in your head— And your poem is done!" She laughed again.
A little sound like a sigh sped from the woman's lips. ”

“ I don't like that woman in the house!" The voice rose higher and shriller, and Mrs. Mason's broke across it sharply:
"Hush, Margaret!"
Then the voices dropped to a murmur.
Milly crossed the room quickly. The pile of work on her arm must serve as an excuse if they came out. . . . She must hear what was being said in the low, rapid tones that went on behind the half-closed door.
It was Mrs. Mason speaking, and the tense words drove a little shock of surprise to Milly's listening ear: "You must trust me, Margaret, to do what is best! It is all right. The woman is really a detective!" ”

“ Mason said. He was determined to have him. . . . But he did not find anything."
Milly could have fancied there was something almost exultant in the look she cast at her. But before she could question it, the look had faded and the face in its loosened hair was only very tired and a little wistful and tragic above the dull-red robe.
"I will leave these," said Milly. She deposited the pile of mended garments she still carried on her arm, and the woman looked at them almost helplessly.
"You work so fast!" she murmured. "I cannot find enough to keep you busy!" ”