Jonathan’s entrance, with the evening papers in his hand, broke the thread of her reverie, and as he sat down in a chair by her side, she wondered if he had inherited her “nature” and if he, also, cherished in his soul the same spiritual yearnings?  Her wonder was, however, entirely unnecessary, for Jonathan had very little imagination, and would never have wasted his time yearning over a sinner whom he had never seen.

“I stopped a minute to get into my evening clothes,” he said, in the cheerful voice of one who is a stranger to aspirations of soul.  “I thought Molly would be dressed by this time.  She is usually so quick.”

“Yes, she is usually very quick,” replied Mrs. Gay gently, while she gathered all the forces of her character, which were slightly disorganized by her recent indulgence in pensive musings, to do battle against an idea which she had striven repeatedly of late to banish from her thoughts.  “I wish, dear Jonathan,” she added, “that you would speak a few words to Molly.  You have such influence with her, and I am sure I don’t wonder.”

“I’ll speak them with pleasure, mother.  Just drop me a hint as to what they are to be about.”

“She’s a sweet, unselfish girl, we all know that, but there are times, dear, especially when strangers are present, when she appears a little—­well, a little crude—­you know what I mean?”

“I fancy I know, but I don’t see just what we are to do about it.  You might as well attempt to reshape Molly’s nose as her character.  Let’s admit that both might be improved and then give up the job.  She’s got charm—­there’s no doubt of that.  I believe even if she were plain she’d be almost as attractive.  Why, I’ve seen her when she was very nearly plain sometimes, and she hasn’t been a whit less fascinating than when she’s looking her prettiest.  It’s the infinite variety and all that, you know.  Her soul does it, I suppose.”

“Yes, she must have charm,” replied Mrs. Gay, ignoring what he had said about “soul” because she felt a vague dislike to hearing a word applied indiscriminately to others which had become, as it were, associated with herself.  “I can’t analyze it, however, for she hasn’t a single really perfect feature except her eyes.”

“But such eyes!  In the sunlight they are nearer the colour of a humming-birds wing than anything I know of.”

“I suppose they are rather unusual, but, after all a fine pair of eyes can’t make exactly a—­well, a lady, Jonathan.”

“The deuce!” he ejaculated, and then added quickly, “What has she done now, mother?”