Massereene, running all her ten little
white fingers through her rebellious locks, and glancing up at him
despairingly. "Do you really expect me to remember all I may have said
yesterday morning? Think how long ago it is."

"Shall I refresh your memory? You gave me to understand that if our
engagement came to an end you would be rather relieved than otherwise."

"Did I? How very odd! Yes, by the bye, I do recollect something of the
kind. And you led up to it, did you not?--almost asked me to say it, I
think, by your unkind remarks."

"Let us keep to the truth," says Luttrell, sternly. "You know such an
idea would never cross my mind. While you--I hardly know what to think.
All last night you devoted yourself to Shadwell."

"That is wrong; he devoted himself to me. Besides, I spoke a little to
Mr. Potts."

"Yes, I suppose you could not be satisfied to let even an idiot like
Potts go free."

"Idiot! Good gracious! are you talking of your friend Mr. Potts? Why, I
was tired to death of hearing his praises sung in my ears morning,
noon, and night at Brooklyn; and now, because I am barely civil to him,
he must be called an idiot! That is rather severe on him, is it not?"

"Never mind Potts. I am thinking principally of Shadwell. Of course,
you are quite at liberty to spend your time with whom you choose, but
at all events I have the right to know what you mean seriously to do.
You have to decide between Shadwell and me."

"I shall certainly not be rude to Philip," Molly says, decisively,
leaning against the trunk of a flowering tree, and raising defiant,
beautiful violet eyes to his. "You seem to pass your time very
agreeably with Marcia. I do not complain, mind, but I like fairness in
all things."

"I thought little country girls like you were all sweetness, and
freshness, and simplicity," says Luttrell, with sudden vehemence. "What
lies one hears in one's lifetime! Why, you might give lessons in
coquetry and cruelty to many a town-bred woman."

"Might I? I am glad you appraise me so highly. I am glad I have escaped
all the 'sweetness, and freshness,' and general imbecility the orthodox
village maiden is supposed to possess. Though why a girl must
necessarily be devoid of wit simply because she has spent her time in
good, healthy air, is a thing that puzzles me. Have you delayed me only
to say this?"

"No, Molly," cries Luttrell, desperately, while Molly, with cool
fingers and a calm face, plucks a flower to pi