“Still, Molly’s a determined girl,” Lucius suggested; “and she might——”
“She might what?”
“Nothing,” said Lucius. “I was only remembering I’d always heard she was such a—such a grasping sort of girl.”
“Had you?”
“Yes, hadn’t you?”
She was thoughtful for a moment. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“So it seemed to me—well——” He laughed hesitatingly. “Well, it certainly was curious, the length of time we were talking about you to-day!” And he paused again as if awaiting her comment; but she offered none. “Well,” he said, finally, “I expect I better go join the old folks on the porch where I belong.”
He was heartily received and made welcome in that sedate retreat, where, as he said, he belonged; but throughout the greetings and the subsequent conversation he kept a corner of his eye upon the dim white figure in the shadow of the maple trees down by the gate.
Presently another figure, a dark one, graceful and young, came slowly along the sidewalk—slowly, and rather hesitatingly. This figure paused, took a few steps onward again; then definitely halted near the gate.
“Who is that young man out there, talking to Mary?” asked Mary’s mother. “Can you make out, father?”