"What does it mean, Mollie?"

Mollie laughed--such a gay, girlish laugh!

"Can't you see, Sir Roger? They are nearly frantic with jealousy, the
three of them. What fun it was to see them sitting there and scowling
at one another!"

"But they threatened, did they not?" the baronet asked, still frowning.

"Did they? They said they would remember, and I think it is very likely
they will. Poor fellows! It was natural, and I don't mind."

"And when am I to speak to your guardian now?"

"As soon as you please--after luncheon, if you like. I don't suppose
he'll object."

"Certainly not," Sir Roger said, proudly; "and then, my dearest, when am
I to have my lovely little wife?"

"Oh, I don't know! It isn't well to be in any hurry. Wait a year or
two."

"A year or two!" cried Sir Roger, in much the same tone as if she had
said a century or two. "Impossible--utterly impossible, Mollie!"

"Well, then, a month or two. I am not in any hurry to be married, and I
don't see why you should be."