Molly was very fond of Polly and of Jack; but no one could be to her like her twin-brother, and Roy's indifference had cut her to the quick. When Polly came in she at once detected a little heap in the corner of the schoolroom, and heard a smothered sob. She drew off her gloves, made her way to the corner, sat down upon the ground, and put a pair of gentle arms round the child.
"Fie, little Molly, fie! This won't do at all. Crying to have to go home with me. That is wrong and silly. And so unkind, too. I wanted so much to have dear little Molly; and now I know she does not care to come. Molly, you little goose, don't you know people can't be always together? And you and I can't alter the world, to please ourselves. Roy is glad to go to Paris, of course. Fie, fie, Molly! cheer up, and don't be doleful. If you are unhappy, it makes other people unhappy; and that is such a pity. You don't want to make me cry too, do you?"
The elder girl's eyes had a look in them of tears not far distant; as she bent over the child.
"Other people have troubles as well as you, little Moll. We don't all—I mean they don't all—talk about their troubles. It is of no use. Things have to be borne, and crying does no good. So stop your tears, and think how agreeable it will be to see my grandmother and Jack, and the Pump Room, and all the fine ladies and gentlemen walking about in their gay clothes."
A squeeze of Molly's arms came in reply.
"There will be Admiral and Mrs. Peirce to see; for the Admiral is now on shore, and they are in Bath. And little Will Peirce, who soon is to be a middy in His Majesty's Navy. And my cousin, Bob Monke, who is at school there. And Jack shall show himself off to you in his new scarlet coat. I am proud of him, for Jack is everything in the world to me. No, not everything, but a great deal, as Roy is to you. Yet I do not expect to keep Jack always by my side. He will have to go some day, and to fight for Old England. And when that day comes I will bid him good-bye with a smile, for I would not be a drag upon him, And Roy will go too, and you will bear it bravely, little Moll, like a soldier's daughter."
The soft caressing voice, the cool rose-leaf cheek against her own, the lovely dark eyes smiling upon her, all comforted Molly; and she clung to Polly, and cried away half her pain.
"Don't tell Roy," she begged presently. "He doesn't mind, and he must not think I care."
"Why not? That is naughty pride, Moll. It is always the women who care—not the men." Polly held up her head, and a far-away look crept into the sweet eyes. "Dear, you must expect it to be so. Men have so much to do and to think about. But we have time to grieve when they go to fight. And they are always so glad to go."
"Are they?" a deep quiet voice asked, close to her side; and Polly started strangely. For a moment her tiny shell-pink ears became crimson, and then she looked up, smiling.