They got it from Mr. Walraven.
Mr. Walraven, bland as oil, told them his ward had received on her
bridal night a summons to the bedside of a dying and very near relative.
Miss Dane, ever impulsive and eccentric, had gone. She had remained with
the dying relative for a fortnight, and merely for mischief--no need to
tell them how mischievous his ward was--had kept the whole matter a
secret. It was very provoking, certainly, but was just like provoking
Mollie Dane.
Mr. Walraven related this little fable smiling sweetly, and with
excellent grace. But society took the story for what it was worth,
and shook its head portentously over Miss Dane and her mysteries.
Nobody knew who she was, where she came from, or what relation she
bore to Mr. Walraven, and nobody believed Mr. Walraven and his little
romance.
But as Mesdames Walraven, mother and wife, countenanced the extraordinary
creature with the flighty way and amber curls, and as she was the ward of
a millionaire, why, society smiled graciously, and welcomed Mollie back
with charming sweetness.
A fortnight passed--the fortnight of probation she had given Sir Roger.
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