* * * * *

It was the eve of Phyllis’s wedding-day, and Molly was hard at work in the kitchen.  The children were all at home, but she had resolutely turned every one out of this, her own particular domain, that she might complete her gigantic task of preparation undisturbed.  The whole household were in a state of seething excitement.  There were guests in the house as well, and every room but the kitchen seemed crowded to its utmost capacity.  Molly was busier than she had ever been in her life, and the whirl of work had nearly swept away even her serenity.  She was very tired, too, though she was scarcely conscious of it.  Her hands went from one task to another with almost mechanical skill.

She was bending over the stove, stirring a delicacy that required her minute attention when there came a knock on the kitchen door.

She did not even turn her head as she responded to it.  “Go away!” she called.  “I can’t talk to anyone.”

There was a pause—­a speculative pause—­during which Molly bent lower over her saucepan and concluded that the intruder had departed.

Then she became suddenly aware that the door had opened quietly and someone had entered.  She could not turn her head at the moment.

“Oh, do go away!” she said.  “I haven’t a second to spare; and if this goes wrong I shall be hours longer.”

The kitchen door closed promptly and obligingly, and Molly, with a little sigh of relief, concentrated her full attention once more upon the matter in hand.

The last critical phase of the operation arrived, and she lifted the saucepan from the fire and turned round with it to the table.

In that instant she saw that which so disturbed her equanimity that she nearly dropped saucepan and contents upon the kitchen floor.

Earl Wyverton was standing with his back against the door, watching her with eyes that shone quizzically under the meeting brows.

He came forward instantly, and actually took the saucepan out of her hands.

“Let me,” he said.

Molly let him, being for the moment powerless to do otherwise.

“Now,” he said, “what does one do—­pour it into this glass thing?  I see.  Don’t watch me, please; I’m nervous.”

Molly uttered a curious little laugh that was not wholly steady.

“How did you come here?” she said.

He did not answer her till he had safely accomplished what he had undertaken.  Then he set down the saucepan and looked at her.

“I am staying with Lady Caryl,” he told her gravely.  “I arrived this afternoon.  And I have come here to present a humble offering to your sister, and to make a suggestion equally humble to you.  I arrived here in this room by means of a process called bribery and corruption.  But if you are too busy to listen to me, I will wait.”

“I can listen,” Molly said.

He had not even shaken hands with her, and she felt strangely uncertain of herself.  She was even conscious of a childish desire to run away.