"Never!" reiterated Molly. "You mean that one day I shall have a preference for—for some gallant gentleman! Nay, but I shall never marry, for I could not care for any, beyond my caring for Roy. And so that matter is for ever settled."
Jack was silent, perhaps a degree vexed. He was not in love with Molly himself, and he believed that Bob Monke was in love with her. Perhaps he was jealous for Bob. Perhaps he was jealous for himself. Though he and Molly were simply friends—bon camarades, in modern parlance—he did not quite see why he should rank second to the long-absent Roy.
Then again Molly's attention wandered, and Jack's glance followed hers. Molly's brow puckered, and Jack's drew into a frown.
"She is wondrous pretty," Molly said softly.
"But Peirce—what business has Peirce? He knows, sure, as to Ivor!"
"Why, Jack, all the world knows."
"And Polly permits!"
"Does Polly permit? Can Polly help it? If she holds aloof, and seeks to check those who come after her, they do but come the more. Polly cannot be sharp with folks. She is so sweet, and 'tis not her way. And Mrs. Bryce too, ever talking—" Molly breathed this very low—"ever seeking to persuade Polly that Den will forget, and will care no more for her."
Jack muttered something to himself. "Then—'tis her wish?"
"The wish of Mrs. Bryce!" Molly's face took an arch set. "Ay, since Captain Peirce came in for of money, on the death of his grandfather. He will be a richer man than Den, by a matter of ten pounds to one."