too bad; and any room would have been good enough for a
soldier. Are you sure you don't hate me for all the inconvenience I
have caused you?"

"I can't be sure," says Molly, "_yet_. Give me time. But this I do
know, that John will quarrel with us if we remain out here any longer,
as breakfast must be quite ready by this. Come."

"When you spoke of my chamber as being haunted, a little time ago,"
says Luttrell, walking beside her on the gravel path, his hands clasped
behind his back, "you came very near the truth. After what you have
just told me, how shall I keep from dreaming about you?"

"Don't keep from it," says she, sweetly; "go on dreaming about me as
much as ever you like. _I_ don't mind."

"But I might," says Luttrell, "when it was too late."

"True," murmurs Molly, innocently: "so you might. John says all dreams
arise from indigestion."

CHAPTER IV.

"As through the land at eve we went."

--Tennyson.

Seven long blissful summer days have surrendered themselves to the
greedy past. It is almost July. To-day is Wednesday,--to-morrow June
will be no more.

"Molly," says Mr. Massereene, with the laudable intention of rousing
Molly's ire, "this is the day for which we have accepted Lady Barton's
invitation to go to the Castle, to meet Lord and Lady Rossmere."

"'This is the cat that killed the rat, that did something or other in
the house that Jack built,'" interrupts Molly, naughtily.

"And on this occasion you have not been invited," goes on John,
serenely, "which shows she does not think you respectable,--not quite
fit for polite society; so you must stay at home, like the bold little
girl, and meditate on your misdemeanors."

"Lady Barton is a very intelligent person, who fully understands my
abhorrence of old fogies," says Miss Massereene, with dignity.

"Sour grapes," says John. "But, now that you have given such an unfair
turn to Lady Barton's motives, I feel it my duty to explain the exact
truth to Luttrell. When last, my dear Tedcastle, Molly was invited to
meet the Rossmeres, she behaved so badly and flirted so outrageously
with his withered lordship, that he became perfectly imbecile toward
the close of the entertainment, and his poor old wife was reduced
almost to the verge of tears. I blushed for her; I did indeed."

"Oh, John! how can you say such things before Mr. Luttrell? If he is
foolish enough to believe you, think what a dreadful opinion he will
have