"He must be near death," says Letitia. Molly is silent, her eyes still fixed upon the letter. "I think, John—she ought to go."
"Of course she shall go," returns John, a kind of savage jealousy pricking him. "I can't provide for her after my death. That old man may be softened by her face or terrified by the near approach of dissolution into doing her justice. He has neither watched her, nor tended her, nor loved her; but now that she has come to perfection he claims her."
"John," cries Molly, with sudden passion, flinging herself into his arms, "I will not go. No, not one step. What is he to me, that stern old tyrant, who has refused for nineteen years to acknowledge me? While you, my dear, my darling, you are my all."
"Nonsense, child!" speaking roughly, although consoled and strengthened by her caress and loving words. "It is what I have been wishing for all these years. Of course you must go. It is only right you should be recognized by your relations, even though it is so late in the day. Perhaps he will leave you a legacy; and"—smiling—"I think I may console myself with the reflection that old Amherst will scarcely be able to cut me out."
"You may, without flattering yourself," says Luttrell.
"Letitia, do you too want to get rid of me?" asks Molly, still half crying.
"You are a hypocrite," says Letitia; "you know you are dying to go. I should, were I in your place. Instead of lamenting, you ought to be thanking your stars for this lucky chance that has befallen you; and you should be doubly grateful to us for letting you go, as we shall miss you horribly."
"I shan't stay any time," says Molly, reviving. "I shall be back before you realize the fact that I have gone. I know in polite society no one is expected to outstay a month at the very longest."
"You cover me with confusion," says Luttrell, laughing. "Consider what unmentionable form I have displayed. How long have I outstayed my time? It is uncommonly good of you, Mrs. Massereene, not to have given me my congé long ago; but my only excuse is that I have been so utterly happy. Perhaps you will forgive me when you learn that I must tear myself away on Thursday."
"Oh! must you?" says Letitia, honestly sorry. Now that the engagement is un fait accompli, and the bridegroom-elect has declared himself not altogether so insolvent as she had feared, she drops precautionary measures and gives way to the affection with which she has begun to regard him. "You are going to Herst also. Why cannot you stay here to accompany Molly? Her going is barely three weeks distant."