The crowds coming and going, the rattle and clatter were
unspeakably delightful, after the dead stagnation of her brief
imprisonment.
"How did we come here?" asked Mollie, at length, turning round. "The
last I remember I was dropping asleep in the buggy."
"And you stayed asleep--sound--all the way," replied Mrs. Sharpe. "You
slept like the dead. Mr. Ingelow lifted you out and carried you up here,
and you never woke. I was asleep, too; but he made no ado about rousing
me up. You were quite another matter."
Mollie blushed.
"How soundly I must have slept! What's the hour, I wonder?"
"About half past eight."
"Is that all? And where is Mr. Ingelow?"
"Gone to get his breakfast and send us ours. Hadn't you better wash and
comb your hair, Miss Dane? Here is the lavatory."
Miss Dane refreshed herself by a cold ablution, and combed out her
beautiful, shining tresses.
As she flung them back, a quick, light step came flying upstairs, a
clear voice sounded, whistling: "My Love is But a Lassie Yet."
"That's Mr. Ingelow," said Susan Sharpe, decisively.
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