on was undoubtedly secure, whom no one disliked
and everybody was willing to amuse, had a much less amusing summer than
Molly. And Edmund Grosse, most unconsciously to himself, was a leading
figure in the warm dream of delight in which Molly lived from the
middle of May till the end of June. They did not meet often at dances,
but at stiffer functions, at the Opera, and also twice in the
country--once on the river on a Sunday afternoon, and once for a whole
week-end party, which last days deserve to be treated in more detail.

The group who met under the deep shade of some historic cedars, on a hot
Saturday afternoon, to spend together a Saturday to Monday with a
notably pleasant host and hostess, had carried with them the electric
atmosphere of the season that so fascinated Molly's inexperience, to
perfume it further with the June roses and light it with the romance of
summer moonlight. Of the party were Molly and her chaperone and Sir
Edmund Grosse.

By this time Mrs. Delaport Green had made up her mind that Molly had
decidedly better become Lady Grosse, and she felt that it would be a
pleasing and honourable conclusion to the season if the engagement were
announced before she and Molly parted. She had fleeced Molly very
considerably, but she wanted her to have her money's worth, and go away
content.

It would take long to carry conviction as to the actual good and the
possibility of further good there was in Mrs. Delaport Green. Out of
reach of certain temptations she might have been quoted as a positive
model of goodness and unselfish brightness. If her imitative gift had
found only the highest models, she might have been a happy nun, or a
quiet, stay-at-home wife and mother. But she was tossed into a social
whirlpool where her instincts and her ambitions and her perceptions were
all confused, and out of the depths of her little spoiled soul, had
crawled a vice--probably hereditary--which might otherwise have slept.
It was fast becoming known that Molly's chaperone was a thorough
gambler.

Sir Edmund Grosse was not unwilling to dawdle under the shade of an old
wall with Mrs. Delaport Green that Saturday evening in the country.

"I feel terribly responsible," she said, in her thin eager little voice;
"I am sure that boy is going to propose to my protege!"

"What boy?" asked Edmund, in a tone of indifference.

"Edgar Tonmore."

"Is Edgar here, then?"

"Oh, no; it won't be at once. He has gone to Scotland,