“Which means,” Mollie said, trying to laugh, “you imposed Mrs. Sharpe here upon Doctor Oleander as the nurse for his purpose, and fooled him to the top of his bent.  Well, Mr. Ingelow, you have gone to a great deal of trouble on my account, and I am very much obliged to you.”

“Is that all?”

“Is that not enough?”

“Hardly.  I don’t labor for such poor pay.  As you say, I have gone to a great deal of trouble, and lost three nights’ sleep running.  I want something more than ‘thank you’ for all that.”

Mollie tried to laugh—­all in a flutter.

“Name your price, then, sir.  Though it were half my kingdom, you shall be paid.”

“And don’t mind me, sir,” suggested Mrs. Sharpe, demurely.

“Ah! but I do mind you,” said Mr. Ingelow; “and besides, the time for payment has not yet come.  Doctor Oleander’s little bill must be settled first.  What do you mean to do about it, Miss Dane?”

“Punish him to the utmost of my power.”

“And that will be pretty severe punishment, if you appeal to the laws of our beloved country.  Abductions, and forcible marriages, and illegal imprisonment don’t go for nothing, I fancy.  Only, unfortunately, the whole land will ring with your story, and your notoriety will be more extensive than gratifying.”

Mollie made a gesture of horror.

“Oh, stop!  Not that!  I should die if it were known I was Guy Oleander’s wife!  I mean it, Hugh Ingelow.  I should die of shame!”

She rose impetuously from the table and walked away to one of the windows.

“You don’t know how I abhor that man—­abhor, detest, hate, loathe him!  There is no word in all the language strong enough to express my feeling for him.  Think of it, Mr. Ingelow!”—­she faced around, her eyes flashing fire—­“think of tearing a bride from the very altar on her wedding-night, and compelling her to marry a man she abhorred!  You, who are a brave man and an honorable gentleman, tell me what language is strong enough for so dastardly a deed.”

Hugh Ingelow left his seat and faced her, very pale.  Mrs. Sharpe slipped out of the room.

“Do you regret your broken marriage with Sir Roger Trajenna, Mollie?”

“No—­yes—­no.  I don’t know—­I don’t think I do.  It isn’t that.  I didn’t care for Sir Roger.  I was mean enough and shabby enough to consent to marry him for his wealth and title.  But I was such a little fool!  Sir Roger was a thousand times too good for me, and he and I are both well out of that matter.  But that is no excuse for such a villainous deed.”

“True.  Nothing can excuse it.  But you must be merciful.  The man loved you passionately.”

“Mr. Ingelow,” opening her eyes wild and wide, “are you pleading Doctor Oleander’s case?”

“No, Mollie—­the case of the man who loved you so madly, so recklessly, that the thought of your being another’s—­another’s whom you did not love—­drove him to insanity, and to the commission of an insane deed.”