Ingelow laughed. "It is quite natural. I should
like it myself. And, by Jove! I've got a capital idea."
Mollie looked up brightly.
"Oleander has given out that he is going to Cuba--he makes no secret of
one half the story, you see--and Mr. Walraven gives a farewell dinner in
honor of the mournful occasion, on Thursday--to-morrow evening. The
party is select--very--on your account, you know--only Sir Roger
Trajenna, Walraven's lawyer, Sardonyx, and myself. Now, when we're all
assembled, discussing your absence, as I'll take care we shall be, and
Oleander is telling lies by the yard, do you appear like a thunder-clap
and transfix him. Guilt will be confounded, innocence triumphantly
vindicated, the virtuous made happy, and the curtain will go down amid
tremendous applause. Eh, how do you like the style of that?"
Mollie laughed gleefully. Half-tamed thing that she was, a few moments
of breezy freedom, by the side of the man she loved, made her all her
old, happy, mischief-loving self again. In the first bright sparkle and
intoxication, she could quite forget that awful fact that she was Dr.
Pages:
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332