Rosina twisted uneasily in bed.
“I don’t see what to do,” she murmured.
Molly was getting into her clothes with a rapidity little short of marvellous.
“I’ll be curious to see what you do do,” she said, sticking pins recklessly into herself here and there, while she settled all nice points with a jerk. “It’s ten o’clock,” she added, with a glance towards the chimney-piece, “you’d better be arising, for I presume he is coming this morning?”
Rosina smiled delightfully.
“You heard him say so last night, didn’t you?”
“Perhaps; somehow the remark didn’t make an impression on me, if I did.”
“I’ll get up directly you go. And oh, Molly, do tell me just once more before you leave me that you think he’s—”
Molly slashed the end of her four-in-hand through the loop and drew up the knot with a single pull; then she approached the bed and leaned over the face upon the pillow.
“I think he’s desperately in love,” she said, “and I’ve no blame for him if he is.”