returns John, a kind of savage jealousy
pricking him. "I can't provide for her after my death. That old man may
be softened by her face or terrified by the near approach of
dissolution into doing her justice. He has neither watched her, nor
tended her, nor loved her; but now that she has come to perfection he
claims her."

"John," cries Molly, with sudden passion, flinging herself into his
arms, "I will not go. No, not one step. What is he to me, that stern
old tyrant, who has refused for nineteen years to acknowledge me? While
you, my dear, my darling, you are my all."

"Nonsense, child!" speaking roughly, although consoled and strengthened
by her caress and loving words. "It is what I have been wishing for all
these years. Of course you must go. It is only right you should be
recognized by your relations, even though it is so late in the day.
Perhaps he will leave you a legacy; and"--smiling--"I think I may
console myself with the reflection that old Amherst will scarcely be
able to cut me out."

"You may, without flattering yourself," says Luttrell.

"Letitia, do you too want to get rid of me?" asks Molly, still half
crying.

"You are a hypocrite," says Letitia; "you know you are dying to go. I
should, were I in your place. Instead of lamenting, you ought to be
thanking your stars for this lucky chance that has befallen you; and
you should be doubly grateful to us for letting you go, as we shall
miss you horribly."

"I shan't stay any time," says Molly, reviving. "I shall be back before
you realize the fact that I have gone. I know in polite society no one
is expected to outstay a month at the very longest."

"You cover me with confusion," says Luttrell, laughing. "Consider what
unmentionable form I have displayed. How long have I outstayed my time?
It is uncommonly good of you, Mrs. Massereene, not to have given me my
_conge_ long ago; but my only excuse is that I have been so
utterly happy. Perhaps you will forgive me when you learn that I must
tear myself away on Thursday."

"Oh! must you?" says Letitia, honestly sorry. Now that the engagement
is _un fait accompli_, and the bridegroom-elect has declared
himself not altogether so insolvent as she had feared, she drops
precautionary measures and gives way to the affection with which she
has begun to regard him. "You are going to Herst also. Why cannot you
stay here to accompany Molly? Her going is barely three weeks distant."

"If I could I would not req