Mollie
read her through at the first glance.
"She hates me already," thought Mr. Walraven's ward; "and your tall
women, with flashing black eyes and blue-black hair, are apt to be good
haters. Very well, Miss Oleander; it shall be just as you like."
A gentleman sat on her other hand--a handsome young artist--Mr. Hugh
Ingelow, and he listened with an attentive face, while she held her own
with the sarcastic Blanche, and rather got the best of the battle.
"The little beauty is no dunce," thought Mr. Hugh Ingelow. "Miss Blanche
has found a foe worthy of her best steel."
And coming to this conclusion, Mr. Ingelow immediately began making
himself agreeable to his fair neighbor. Miss Oleander was a pet aversion
of his own, and this bond of union drew him and her saucy little
antagonist together at once.
"Rather a sharp set-to, Miss Dane," the artist remarked, in his lazy
voice. "Miss Oleander is a clever woman, but she is matched at last.
I wonder why it is? You two ought to be good friends."
He glanced significantly at Mr. Walraven, devoting himself to Miss
Oleander, and Mollie gave her white shoulders a little shrug.
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