How lovely Mollie looked!  The golden curls fell in a shining shower over the dainty white cashmere robe, belted with blue velvet, soft white lace and a diamond pin sparkling at the rounded throat.  She came forward with a bright smile and outstretched hand to greet them.

“I was cross last night, you know,” she said, “and couldn’t properly speak to my friends.  Traveling steadily, for goodness knows how many hours, in a bumping coach, would wear out the patience of a saint—­and you know I’m not a saint!”

“No,” said Mr. Walraven; “very far from it.  Nearer the other thing, I suspect.”

“Now, guardy,” said Mollie, reproachfully, “how can you?  And after I’ve been lost, and you’ve been all distracted about me, too!  Oh, how I should like to have seen the fuss and the uproar, and the dismay and distraction generally!  Do tell me what you all thought.”

“I’ll tell you nothing of the sort,” said her guardian, sternly.  “Have you no feeling in that flinty heart of yours, Mollie Dane?”

“Well, now, guardy, if you’ll believe me, I’m not so sure I’ve got a heart at all.  There’s something that beats in here”—­tapping lightly on her white bodice—­“but for going frantic with love or hate, or jealousy or sorrow, or any of those hysterical things that other people’s hearts seem made for, I don’t believe I have.  I tell you this frankly”—­glancing sideways at Sir Roger Trajenna—­“in order to warn you and everybody not to be too fond of me.  I’m not worth it, you see, and if you take me for more than my value, and get disappointed afterward, the fault’s not mine, but yours.”

Mr. Walraven looked at her in surprise.

“Rather a lengthy speech, isn’t it, Mollie?  Suppose you leave off lecturing, and tell us where you’ve been for the last two weeks.”

“Where do you suppose I’ve been?”

“We can’t suppose on such a question; it is impossible.  I desire you to tell us.”

“And if I don’t, guardy?”

She looked up at him rather defiantly—­seated on a low stool, her elfish chin in her elfish hand, her pretty little rose-bloom face peeping brightly out from the scented yellow curls.

“Mollie!”

“Guardy, see here:  it’s of no use getting cross.  I can’t tell you where I’ve been, because I don’t know myself.”

“Mollie!”

“It’s true as preaching, guardy.  You know I don’t tell fibs—­except in fun.  I don’t know where I was, and so I can’t tell you, and I’d a good deal rather you wouldn’t ask me.”

“Mollie!”

“Oh, what’s the use of Mollieing?” cried the young lady, waxing impatient.  “I was taken somewhere, and I don’t know where—­’pon my word and honor, I don’t—­and I was kept a prisoner in a nasty room, by people I don’t know, to punish me for flirting, I was told; and when I was there two weeks, and punished sufficiently, Heaven knows, I was fetched home.  Guardy, there’s everything I know or can tell you about the matter.  Now, please be good, and don’t bother with tiresome questions.”