and sparkling pearls, and amber tresses. There, of course, was Sir
Roger, and there (also, of course) were Dr. Oleander and Hugh Ingelow
in a state of frantic jealousy.

It had come, long ere this, to be a settled thing that the Welsh baronet
should never leave her side, except while she was dancing. So that when,
a little before supper, they strolled out on the piazza, it was nothing
surprising or remarkable.

The winter night was windless and mild. Sir Roger's asthmatic and
rheumatic afflictions were quite safe in the warm atmosphere. Moonlight
flooded everything with its misty glory, stars spangled the sky, music
came softened by distance from the ball-room--all was conducive to love
and to love-making. Sir Roger Trajenna, inspired by the music, the
moonlight, and the charming little beauty beside him, there and then
laid name, heart, and fortune at Miss Dane's fair feet.

There was a pause. Even Mollie felt a little fluttered, now that the
time had come.

"I know the disparity of years is great," the baronet said, quite
trembling in his eagerness; "but my whole existence will be devoted to
you; every pleasure wealth can purchase shall be yours; every wish that
I can anticipate shall be anticipated. You will be my darling, my idol.
I love you passionately. Say not, then, I am too old."

"I don't," said Mollie--"I don't mind your age in the least. I rather
dislike young men; I've had such a surfeit of them."

"Then I may hope?" breathlessly.