"She came by the half-past four train. Williams met her with the brougham."
"And it is nearly six. Pray why have I been kept so long in ignorance of her arrival?" Not once as he speaks does he look at Marcia, or at anything but Molly's pale, pretty, disturbed face.
"Dear grandpapa, you have forgotten. Yesterday I told you the hour we expected her. But no doubt, with so many important matters upon your mind," with a glance at the littered table, "you forgot this one."
"I did," slowly, "so effectually as to make me doubt having ever heard it. No, Marcia, no more excuses, no more lies: you need not explain. Be satisfied that whatever plans you formed to prevent my bidding your cousin welcome to my house were highly successful. At intrigue you are a proficient. I admire proficiency in all things,—but—for the future—be so good as to remember that I never forget."
"Dear grandpapa," with a pathetic but very distinct sigh, "it is very hard to be misjudged!"
"Granted. Though at times one must own it has its advantages. Now, if for instance I could only bring myself, now and again, to misjudge you, how very much more conducive to the accomplishment of your aims it would be! Leave the room. I wish to speak to your cousin."
Reluctant, but not daring to disobey, and always with the same aggrieved expression upon her face, Marcia withdraws.
As the door closes behind her, Mr. Amherst rises, and holds out one hand to Molly.
"You are welcome," he says, quietly, but coldly, and evidently speaking with an effort.
Molly, coming slowly up to him, lays her hand in his, while entertaining an earnest hope that she will not be called upon to seal the interview with a kiss.