in and gave forth her delight.

Some people might still agree with Mrs. Carteret that Molly was not
beautiful. Still, it was an appearance that would always provoke
discussion. Molly could not be overlooked, and when her mind and
feelings were excited, then she gave a strange impression of intense
vitality--not the pleasant overflow of animal spirits, but a suppressed,
yet untamed, vitality of a more mental, more dangerous kind. Her
movements were usually sudden, swift, and abrupt, yet there was in them
all a singular amount of expression, and, if Molly's keen grey eyes and
sensitive mouth did not convey the impression of a simple, or even of a
kindly nature, they gave suggestions of light and longing, hunger and
resolution.

To-day, the twenty-first birthday, was to be the first day of freedom,
the last of shackles and dulness and commonplace. It was to be a day of
speech and a day of revenge.

Molly was waiting now for Mrs. Carteret to come in and stand before her
and hear all she meant to say about the long, unholy deception that had
been put upon her. She was going to say good-bye now and be free.
Molly's money would now be her own, she could take it away and share it
with the deserted, misjudged mother. Nothing in all this was
melodramatic; it would have been but natural if the facts had been as
she supposed, only Molly made the little mistake of treating as facts
her carefully built-up fancies, her long, childish story of her own
life.

She was so absorbed that she hardly saw Mrs. Carteret come in and sit
down in her square, substantial way in a large arm-chair. Molly,