"Yes?"
"I have certainly thought——"
"Letitia,"—with authority,—"don't think, or suspect, or let it occur to you any more: say it."
"Well, then, I think he is in love with Molly."
John breaks into a heavy laugh.
"What it is to be a woman of penetration," says he. "So you have found that out. Now, that is where we men fail. But are you certain? Why do you think it?"
"I am almost convinced of it," Letitia says, with much solemnity. "Last night I happened to be looking out of one of the windows that overhang the garden, and there in the moonlight (it was quite ten o'clock) I saw Molly give him a red rose; and he took it, and gazed at it as though he were going to devour it; and then he kissed it; and after that he kissed Molly's hand! Now, I don't think, John, unless a young man was—you know—eh?"
"I altogether agree with you. Unless a young man was, you know, why, he wouldn't—that's all. I am glad, however, he had the grace to stop at the hand,—that it was not Molly's lips he chose instead."
"My dear John!"
"My darling Letty! have I said anything so very outre? Were you never kissed by a young man?"