I wonder why it is? You two ought to be good friends."

He glanced significantly at Mr. Walraven, devoting himself to Miss
Oleander, and Mollie gave her white shoulders a little shrug.

"If we ought, we never will be. Coming events cast their shadows before,
and I know I shall detest a guardianess. Who is that brigandish-looking
gentleman over there, Mr. Ingelow? He has been staring at me steadily
for the last ten minutes."

"Lost in speechless admiration, no doubt. That gentleman is the
celebrated Doctor Oleander, own cousin to the fair Blanche."

The gentleman in question certainly was staring, but his staring was
interrupted at this moment by a general uprising and retreat to the
drawing-room. Mr. Ingelow, on whose arm she leaned, led her to the piano
at once.

"You sing, I know--Mrs. Walraven has told me. Pray favor us with one
song before some less gifted performer secures this vacant seat."

"What shall it be?" Mollie asked, running her white fingers over the
keys.

"Whatever you please--whatever you like best. I shall be sure to like
it."

Mollie sung brilliantly, and sung her best now. There was dead silence;
no one had expected such a glorious voice as this. Hugh Ingelow's rapt
face showed what he felt as Mollie rose.