finished leaves Molly standing before her
maid with (it must be confessed) a very self-satisfied smirk upon her
countenance.

"How am I looking, Sarah? I want a candid opinion; but on no account
say anything disparaging."

"Lovely!" says Sarah, with comfortable haste. "There's no denying it,
Miss Molly. Miss Amherst below, for all her dark hair and eyes (and I
don't say but that she is handsome), could not hold a candle to you, as
the saying is--and that's a fact."

"Is there anything in all the world," says Miss Massereene, "so sweet
as sincere praise? Sarah, you are a charming creature. Good-bye; I
go--let us hope--to victory. But if not,--if I find the amiable
relatives refuse to acknowledge my charms I shall at least know where
to come to receive the admiration I feel I so justly deserve!"

So saying, with a little tragic flourish, she once more wends her way
down-stairs, trailing behind her her pretty white muslin gown, with its
flecks of coloring, blue as her eyes, into the drawing-room.

The close of autumn brings to us a breath of winter. Already the
daylight has taken to itself wings and flown partially away; and
though, as yet, a good deal of it through compassion lingers, it is but
a half-hearted dallying that speaks of hurry to be gone.

The footman, a young person, of a highly morbid and sensitive
disposition, abhorrent of twilights, has pulled down all the blinds in
the sitting-rooms, and drawn the curtains closely, has lit the lamps,
and poked into a blaze the fire, that Mr. Amherst has the wisdom to
keep burning all the year round in the long chilly room.

Before the fire, with one arm on the mantel-piece, and one foot upon
the fender, stands a young man, in an attitude suggestive of
melancholy. Hearing the rustling of a woman's garments, he looks up,
and, seeing Molly, stares at her, first lazily, then curiously, then
amazedly, then----

She is quite close to him; she can almost touch him; indeed, no farther
can she go without putting him to one side; and still he has not
stirred. The situation grows embarrassing, so embarrassing that, what
with the ludicrous silence and Philip Shadwell's eyes which betray a
charmed astonishment, Molly feels an overpowering desire to laugh. She
compromises matters by smiling, and lowering her eyelids just half an
inch.

"You do not want all the fire, do you?" she asks, demurely, in a low
tone.

"I beg your pardon," exclaims Philip, in his abstraction, movin