CHAPTER VI.

MOLLIE'S BRIDAL.

Imagine that tableau!

For an instant there was dead silence; a bomb bursting in their midst could hardly have startled them more. Mollie dared not look in their faces, lest the inward laughter that convulsed her should burst forth.

Sir Roger Trajenna, a little surprised, yet bowed with gentlemanly ease, while the three young men sat perfectly thunder-struck.

The dead blank was broken by Dr. Oleander.

"Permit me to congratulate Sir Roger Trajenna," he said, bowing to that gentleman; "and permit me to thank Miss Dane for this exceedingly unexpected mark of preference. If it is ever in my power to return your condescension, Miss Mollie, believe me you will find my memory good. I wish you all good-morning."

His immovable face had not changed, but his gray eyes flashed one bright, fierce glance at Mollie, that said, plainly as words, "I will have revenge for this insult as sure as my name is Guy Oleander".

But saucy Mollie only answered that sinister look by her brightest glance and smile; and taking his hat, Dr. Oleander strode away.

Then Mr. Sardonyx arose. He had been sitting like a statue, but the words and departure of his fellow-victim seemed to restore consciousness.

"Am I to understand, Miss Dane, that this is the answer you meant when you invited me here to-day?" he sternly asked.

"Did I really invite you? Oh, yes! Of course, Mr. Sardonyx, it must have been. I purposely kept my engagement secret since my return from Washington in order to give you an agreeable surprise."

"I am exceedingly obliged to you. Believe me, I will prove my grat.i.tude if ever opportunity offers."

Miss Dane bowed and smiled. Sir Roger looked hopelessly bewildered. Mr.

Sardonyx took his hat.

"Farewell, Miss Dane, and many thanks."

He was gone. Hugh Ingelow alone remained--Hugh Ingelow, white and cold as a dead man. Mollie's heart smote her cruelly for the second time at sight of him. He arose as the lawyer disappeared.

"You have nothing more to say to me, Miss Dane?"

Mollie lifted her eyebrows.

"My dear Mr. Ingelow, what should I possibly have to say to you, except that we will always be most happy to see you--Sir Roger and I?"

"Always," echoed the baronet, with a stately bend.

"You are very kind. Good-day, Sir Roger Trajenna. Congratulations on so eminently suitable a match would be preposterous. Farewell, Miss Dane.

I, too, know how to remember!"

With the words he pa.s.sed out. Sir Roger turned with something like a frown to his bride-elect.

"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."

"My darling little Mollie, if you loved me half as much as I love you, you would understand. And you will really be mine in a month?"

"Or two. Yes, if you insist upon it. If I am to be Lady Trajenna first or last, it may as well be first, I suppose."

"And you will not change your mind?"

"Of course not," said Mollie, indignantly. "When Mollie Dane gives her word, the laws of the Medes and--what's their names?--are nothing to it.

Don't tease, Sir Roger. When I promise a thing, it's as good as done."

Mollie danced away to the piano, and held her infatuated baronet spell-bound until luncheon time.

At table Mr. and Mrs. Walraven met them, and immediately after the meal the baronet formally requested the pleasure of a private interview.

"Can he really be going to ask for Mollie?" thought Mr. Walraven. "Upon my word, if he is, this is quite a new role for me--playing the part of venerable parent, and that to a white-haired gentleman who numbers a round score more years than myself."

He led the way to his study, followed by the baronet. And Sir Roger came to the point at once, calmly, proudly, with grave dignity.

"The disparity of years is great, I know," he said. "But if she is willing to overlook that objection, you surely may. There is no other drawback that I am aware of. A Trajenna, of Trajenna, might mate with the highest in England."

He lifted his white, erect head haughtily, and looked Carl Walraven full in the face. Mr. Walraven held out his hand and grasped the baroness's cordially.

"My dear Sir Roger, I am proud and happy beyond expression. Mollie may consider herself a fortunate girl to escape the wild young scapegraces who dangle after her, and find a husband in a man like you. She stands alone in the world, poor child, without father or mother. You, Sir Roger, must be all the world to her now."

"Heaven helping me, I will!" the old man said, earnestly.

"My whole life shall be devoted to her happiness."