id not like to remain longer."

"Then depend upon it, my dear, you did not see the last act in that
drama."

"You surely do not think Molly----"

"I seldom trouble to think. I only know Luttrell is an uncommonly
good-looking fellow, and that the moon is a white witch."

"He _is_ good-looking," says Letitia, rising and growing troubled;
"he is more than that,--he is charming. Oh, John! if our Molly were to
fall in love with him, and grow unhappy about it, what would we do? I
don't believe he has anything beyond his pay."

"He has something more than that, I know, but not much. The Luttrells
have a good deal of spare cash throwing about among them."

"But what of that? And a poor man would be wretched for Molly. Remember
what an expensive regiment he is in. Why, I suppose as it is he can
hardly keep himself. And how would it be with a wife and a large
family?"

"Oh, Letitia! let us have the marriage ceremony first. Why on earth
will you saddle the miserable man with a large family so soon? And
wouldn't a small one do? Of what use to pile up the agony to such a
height?"

"I think of no one but Molly. There is nothing so terrible as a long
engagement, and that is what it will come to. Do you remember Sarah
Annesley? She grew thinner and thinner day by day, and her complexion
became positively yellow when Perceval went away. And her mother said
it was suspense preying upon her."

"So they _said_, my dear; but we all _know_ it was
indigestion."

"John,"--austerely,--"what is the exact amount of Mr. Luttrell's
income?"

"About six hundred a year, I think."

"As much as that?" Slightly relieved. "And will his father allow him
anything more?"

"Unless you insist upon my writing to Sir William, I could not tell you
that."

"Six hundred a year is far too little."

"It is almost as much as we have."

"But you are not in the army, and you are not a fashionable young man."

"If you say that again I shall sue for a divorce. But seriously, Letty,
perhaps you are exciting yourself about nothing. Who knows but they are
indifferent to each other?"

"I fear they are not. And I will not have poor Molly made unhappy."

"Why not 'poor Luttrell'? It is far more likely as I see it."

"I don't want any one to be unhappy. And something must be done."

"Exactly." After a pause, with ill-concealed cowardice: "Will you do
it?"

"Do what?"

"That awful 'something' that is to be done."

"Certainly not. It is your duty