There was a grand dinner-party at some commercial nabob's up the avenue,
and all the Walraven family were there. There, too, was the Welsh
baronet, stately and grand-seigneur-like as ever; there were Dr.
Oleander, Lawyer Sardonyx, Hugh Ingelow, and the little witch who had
thrown her wicked sorceries over them, brighter, more sparkling, more
lovely than ever.
And at the dinner-party Mollie was destined to receive a shock; for,
just before they paired off to the dining-room, there entered a late
guest, announced as the "Reverend Mr. Rashleigh," and, looking in the
Reverend Mr. Rashleigh's face, Mollie Dane recognized him at once.
She was standing at the instant, as it chanced, beside Hugh Ingelow,
gayly helping him to satirize a magnificent "diamond wedding" they had
lately attended; but at the sight of the portly, commonplace gentleman,
the words seemed to freeze on her lips.
With her eyes fixed on his face, her own slowly whitening until it
was blanched, Mollie stood and gazed and gazed. Hugh Ingelow looked
curiously from one to the other.
"In Heaven's name, Miss Mollie, do you see the Marble Guest, or some
invisible familiar, peeping over that fat gentleman's shoulder? What do
you see? You look as though you were going to faint.
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