"But that's about all she can do," laughed Molly. "Ah! there"--she could
not quite hide the regret in her voice--"there are Lady Groombridge and
Lady Rose."




CHAPTER XII

MOLLY'S NIGHT WATCH


That night Molly could write it on the tablets of her mind that she had
passed a nearly perfect day. The evening had not promised to be as happy
as the rest, but it had held a happy hour. Mrs. Delaport Green had made
a masterly descent just in time for dinner. Molly smiled at the thought
when alone in her room. A beautiful tea-gown had expressed the invalid,
and was most becoming.

"Every one has been so kind, dear Lady Groombridge; really, it is a
temptation to be ill in this house--everything so perfectly done."

Lady Groombridge most distinctly grunted.

"Why is toothache so peculiarly hard to bear?" She turned to Edmund
Grosse.

"It wants a good deal of philosophy certainly, especially when one's
face swells; but yours, fortunately, has not lost its usual outline."
And he gave her a complimentary little bow.