The next instant came a light rap at the door.
"The room is thine own," said Mollie, in French. "Come in."
"Good-morning, ladies," Mr. Ingelow said, entering, handsome and
radiant. "Miss Dane, I trust you feel refreshed after your journey?"
"And my long sleep? Yes, sir."
"And ready for breakfast?"
"Quite ready."
"That is well, for here it comes."
As he spoke, a colored personage in a white apron entered, staggering
under the weight of a great tray.
"Breakfast for three," said Mr. Ingelow, whipping off the silver covers.
"Set chairs, Sam. Now, then, ladies, I intended to breakfast down at the
restaurant; but the temptation to take my matinal meal in such fair
company was not to be resisted. I didn't try to resist it, and--here we
are!"
Mollie sat beside him, too pretty to tell, and smiling like an angel. At
Seventeen, one night is enough to make us as happy as a seraph. For
golden-haired, blue-eyed Mollie earth held no greater happiness, just
then, than to sit by Hugh Ingelow's side and bask in the light of his
smile.
"Delightfully suggestive all this, eh?" said the artist, helping his
fair neighbor bountifully.
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