She came forward with
a bright smile and outstretched hand to greet them.
"I was cross last night, you know," she said, "and couldn't properly
speak to my friends. Traveling steadily, for goodness knows how many
hours, in a bumping coach, would wear out the patience of a saint--and
you know I'm not a saint!"
"No," said Mr. Walraven; "very far from it. Nearer the other thing, I
suspect."
"Now, guardy," said Mollie, reproachfully, "how can you? And after I've
been lost, and you've been all distracted about me, too! Oh, how I
should like to have seen the fuss and the uproar, and the dismay and
distraction generally! Do tell me what you all thought."
"I'll tell you nothing of the sort," said her guardian, sternly. "Have
you no feeling in that flinty heart of yours, Mollie Dane?"
"Well, now, guardy, if you'll believe me, I'm not so sure I've got a
heart at all. There's something that beats in here"--tapping lightly
on her white bodice--"but for going frantic with love or hate, or
jealousy or sorrow, or any of those hysterical things that other
people's hearts seem made for, I don't believe I have.
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