Unfolding the paper, they find the check has been drawn for a hundred pounds.
"Very good," says Cecil, with a relieved sigh. "He is not such a bad old thing, when all is told."
"It is too much," says Molly, aghast. "I can't take it, indeed. I would have thought twenty pounds a great deal, but a hundred pounds! I must take it back to him."
"Are you mad," exclaims Cecil, "to insult him? He thinks nothing of a hundred pounds. And to give back money,—that scarce commodity,—how could you bring yourself to do it?" In tones of the liveliest reproach. "Be reasonable, dear, and let us see how we can spend it fast enough."
Thus adjured, Molly succumbs, and, sinking into a chair, is soon deep in the unfathomable mysteries of silks and satins, tulle and flowers.
"And, Cecil, I should like to buy Letitia a silk dress like that one of yours up-stairs I admire so much."
"The navy blue?"
"No, the olive-green; it would just suit her. She has a lovely complexion, clear and tinted, like your own."
"Thank you, dear. It is to be regretted you are of the weaker sex. So delicately veiled a compliment would not have disgraced a Chesterfield."
"Was it too glaring? Well, I will do away with it. I was thinking entirely of Letty. I was comparing her skin very favorably with yours. That reminds me I must write home to-day. I hope John won't be offended with me about this money. Though, after all, there can't be much harm in accepting a present from one's grandfather."