“Much obliged to you, sir,” Mrs. Sharpe said, dryly, obeying orders, nevertheless.

“I’ll sit back with Mrs. Sharpe,” said Mollie, sensitively shrinking.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” retorted Mr. Ingelow, authoritatively.  “You’ll do precisely as I tell you!  You and Mrs. Sharpe are both in my power, and if you don’t keep uncommonly civil and docile, I’ll run off with the pair of you and start a seraglio!  There, ma’am, you’re comfortable, I hope?  Now, the sooner you go to sleep the better.”

He helped Mrs. Sharpe into the back seat of the two-seated buggy, wrapped her up, and then assisted Mollie up in front.

“A splendid night for our business,” he said, getting in beside her and gathering up the reins.  “Now then, off we go, over ’brake, bush and scaur,’ and good-bye to Doctor Oleander and the trip to Cuba!”

Obedience was not very hard in this instance.  Miss Dane snugged up nice and close to Mr. Ingelow, and felt very comfortable indeed.  As for him, there was a glow of happiness about his heart like the halo round a full moon.  They would have been satisfied, just then, to sit side by side and drive along in a glory of moonshine forever and ever.

“Where are we going?” Mollie asked once.

“To the city—­to New York.”

“Oh!  I know.  But where?”

“Wherever you please, Miss Mollie.  That will be Mr. Walraven’s, I presume?”

“But—­”

Mollie hesitated.

“What?” he said, in surprise.  “Don’t you want to go home?”

“Very much, Mr. Ingelow.  It isn’t that.”

“Well, what is it, then?”

“Mr. Ingelow, you’ll think me very silly, I dare say; but I don’t want to go up there in a matter-of-fact sort of way at day-break to-morrow morning, in this double buggy, with you and Mrs. Sharpe.  I should like—­how shall I say it?—­a little coup de théâtre!”

“Oh!  I understand,” Mr. 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. Oleander’s wedded wife.