nswered Aimee; "but don't trouble
about it, or the day will seem twice as long. Take Tod down-stairs and
wash and dress him. It will give you something else to think of."

The wise one herself had not slept well. Truth to say, she was troubled
about more matters than one. She was troubled to account for the meaning
of Dolly's absence with Gowan. Even in her excitement, Dolly had not
felt the secret quite her own, and had only given a skeleton explanation
of the true state of affairs.

"It was something about Mollie and Gerald Chan-dos," she had said; "and
if I had not gone it would have been worse than death to Mollie. Don't
ask me to tell you exactly what it was, because I can't. Perhaps Mollie
will explain herself before many days are over. She always tells you
everything, you know. But it was no real fault of here; she was silly,
but not wicked, and she is safe from Gerald Chandos now forever. And _I_
saved her, Aimee."

And so the wise one had lain awake and thought of all sorts of possible
and impossible escapades. But as she was dressing herself this morning,
the truth flashed upon her, though it was scarcely the whole truth.

"She was going to elope with him," she exclaimed all at once; "_that_
was what she was going to do. Oh, Mollie, Mollie, what a romantic goose
you are!"

And having reached this solution, she closed her small, determined mouth
in discreet silence, resolving to wait for Mollie's confession, which
she knew was sure to come sooner or later. As to Mollie herself, she
came down subdued and silent. She had slept off the effects of her first
shock, but had by no means forgotten it. She would never forget it, poor
child, as long as she lived, and she was so grateful to find herself
safe in the shabby rooms again, that she had very little to say; and
since she was in so novel a mood, the members of the family who were not
in the secret decided that her headache must have been a very severe one
indeed.

"Don't say anything to her about Grif," Dolly cautioned Aimee, "it would
only trouble her." And so the morning passed; but even at twelve o'clock
there was no Grif, and Dolly began to grow restless and walk to and
fro from the window to the hearth at very short intervals. Dinner-hour
arrived, too, but still no arrival; and Dolly sat at the table, among
them, eating nothing and saying little enough. How could she talk when
every step upon the pavement set her heart bounding? When dinner was
over a