believe there is nothing more, Mr. Walraven, and so let us rejoin the
ladies."

The news spread like wildfire--the avenue was electrified. Mollie
Dane--little, coquettish Mollie Dane--sprung from nobody knew where, to
carry off the great Welsh baronet, in spite of them all. The man must be
in his dotage!

Mr. Walraven's antecedents were mysterious enough, in all conscience;
but the antecedents of this wild ward of his were ten times more so.
But, in spite of all, the engagement was an accomplished fact.

Every day, beneath the baleful glare of angry female eyes, Mollie Dane
went riding and driving and walking with the stately, white-haired old
millionaire, who bent over her as obsequiously as though she were a
duchess born.

The women might go wild with envy, the men go mad with jealousy; but the
days and the weeks went on, and the fairy grew more radiantly beautiful
with each. And the wedding-day came, and the guests were bidden, and all
was ready, on a scale of unparalleled magnificence. And who was to know
the wedding would never be?

Mollie's bridal night! The big brown-stone mansion was one blaze of
light. The ceremony was to take place in the lofty drawing-room, and be
followed by a ball. This somewhat obsolete way of doing things was by
the express desire of Sir Roger, and on the morrow they were to start
by steamer for the old land. It was all one to Mollie, and Mr. and Mrs.
Walraven acquiesced in every wish of the Welshman.