"
Carl Walraven sunk down into a chair and covered his face, with a groan.
Hugh Ingelow turned to go.
"Stop!" Mr. Walraven said, hoarsely. "What is to become of her? Are you
going to marry her, Hugh Ingelow?"
"I decline answering that question, Mr. Walraven," the artist said,
haughtily. "Miss Dane will be cared for--believe that. I wish you
good-morning."
Mr. Ingelow was very pale when he emerged into thronged Broadway, but
there was no indecision in his movements. He hailed a hack passing,
sprung in, and was driven rapidly to the east side--to the humble abode
of Mrs. Slimmens.
Mollie came forth to meet him, worn and sad, and with traces of tears,
but with a bright, glad light in her starry eyes at sight of him--the
light of sweet young love.
"I have seen him, Mollie," he said. "I gave him your letter. You would
hardly have known him, he looked so utterly aghast and confounded. He
will not try to see you, I am certain. And now, my dear girl, for that
other and better plan that I spoke of last evening. But first you must
take a drive with me--a somewhat lengthy drive.
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