greatest admirer
had never called him an intuitive man, and he was quite at a loss to
see what was wrong. As a schemer, he was perhaps a little naive. He
had taken it for granted that Molly was ignorant of the maneuvers
which had been going on, and which had culminated that afternoon in
a stammering proposal of marriage from Lord Dreever in the rose-garden.
This, however, was not the case. The woman incapable of
seeing through the machinations of two men of the mental caliber of
Sir Thomas Blunt and Mr. McEachern has yet to be born. For some
considerable time, Molly had been alive to the well-meant plottings
of that worthy pair, and had derived little pleasure from the fact.
It may be that woman loves to be pursued; but she does not love to
be pursued by a crowd.

Mr. McEachern cleared his throat, and began again.

"You shouldn't decide a question like that too hastily, my dear."

"I didn't--not too hastily for Lord Dreever, at any rate, poor
dear."

"It was in your power," said Mr. McEachern portentously, "to make a
man happy--"

"I did," said Molly, bitterly. "You should have seen his face light
up. He could hardly believe it was true for a moment, and then it
came home to him, and I thought he would have fallen on my neck. He
did his very best to look heart-broken--out of politeness--but it
was no good. He whistled most of the way back to the house--all
flat, but very cheerfully."

"My dear! What do you mean?"

Molly had made the discovery earlier in their conversation that her
father had moods whose existence she had not expected. It was his
turn now to make a similar discovery regarding herself.

"I mean nothing, father," she said. "I'm just telling you what
happened. He came to me looking like a dog that's going to be
washed--"

"Why, of course, he was nervous, my dear."

"Of course. He couldn't know that I was going to refuse him."

She was breathing quickly. He started to speak, but she went on,
looking straight before her. Her face was very white in the moon-light.

"He took me into the rose-garden. Was that Sir Thomas's idea? There
couldn't have been a better setting, I'm sure. The roses looked
lovely. Presently, I heard him gulp, and I was so sorry for him! I
would have refused him then, and put him out of his misery, only I
couldn't very well till he had proposed, could I? So, I turned my
back, and sniffed at a rose. And, then, he shut his eyes--I couldn't
see him, but I know he shut his ey