It would take long to carry conviction as to the actual good and the
possibility of further good there was in Mrs. Delaport Green. Out of
reach of certain temptations she might have been quoted as a positive
model of goodness and unselfish brightness. If her imitative gift had
found only the highest models, she might have been a happy nun, or a
quiet, stay-at-home wife and mother. But she was tossed into a social
whirlpool where her instincts and her ambitions and her perceptions were
all confused, and out of the depths of her little spoiled soul, had
crawled a vice--probably hereditary--which might otherwise have slept.
It was fast becoming known that Molly's chaperone was a thorough
gambler.

Sir Edmund Grosse was not unwilling to dawdle under the shade of an old
wall with Mrs. Delaport Green that Saturday evening in the country.

"I feel terribly responsible," she said, in her thin eager little voice;
"I am sure that boy is going to propose to my protégé!"

"What boy?" asked Edmund, in a tone of indifference.

"Edgar Tonmore."

"Is Edgar here, then?"

"Oh, no; it won't be at once. He has gone to Scotland, but he will be
back before we leave London."

"Really he is an excellent fellow. I don't see why you should be
anxious."