"This is the first time I ever saw
him at a private party."
"I think I know the reason," responded Mr. Ingelow. "Rumor sets him down
as the last in Miss Dane's list of killed and wounded."
"So I have heard," said Mollie, coolly; "but it is too good to be true.
I should dearly love to be my lady and live in a Welsh castle."
"With sixty-five years and a hoary head for a husband?"
"How painfully accurate you are! With his countless millions and his
ancestral castles, what does a little disparity of years signify?"
"Miss Dane," asked Mr. Ingelow, very earnestly, "would you accept that
old man if he asked you?"
"My dear Mr. Ingelow, what a dreadfully point-blank question! So very
embarrassing! I thought you knew better!"
"I beg your pardon. But, Miss Dane, as a sincere friend, may I ask an
answer?"
"Well, then, as a friend, I can't say for certain, but I am afraid--I am
very much afraid I would say--"
"Miss Dane, permit me!" exclaimed a voice at her elbow--"Sir Roger
Trajenna, Miss Dane."
Miss Dane turned calmly round to her hostess and _the_ guest of the
evening, and graciously received the venerable baronet's profound bow.
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