“Oh, dear!” cried Dolly. “What—”
Aimée interrupted her.
“And that is not the worst. The fact is, Dolly, I don't know what to make of her. If it was any one but Mollie, or if Mollie was a bit less innocent and impetuous, I should not be so much afraid; but sometimes she is angry with herself, and sometimes she is angry with him, and sometimes she is both, and then I should not be surprised at her doing anything innocent and frantic. Poor child! It is my impression she has about half made up her mind to the desperate resolve of making a grand marriage. She said as much the other night, and I think that is why she encourages Mr. Chandos.”
“Oh, dear,” cried Dolly, again. “And does she think he wants to marry her?”
“She knows he makes violent love to her, and she is not worldly-wise enough to know that Lord Burleighs are out of date.”
“Out of date!” said Dolly; “I doubt if they ever were in date. Men like Mr. Gerald Chandos would hesitate at marrying Venus from Bloomsbury Place.”
“If it was Ralph Gowan,” suggested Aimée.
“But Ralph Gowan is n't like Chandos,” Dolly returned, astutely. “He is worth ten thousand of him. I wish he would fall in love with Mollie and marry her. Poor Mollie! Poor, pretty, headlong little goose! What are we to do with her?”
“Mr. Gowan is very fond of her, in a way,” said Aimée. “If he did not care a little for you—”
“I wish he did not!” sighed Dolly. “But it serves me right,” with candor. “He would never have thought of me again if I—well, if I had n't found things so dreadfully dull at that Bilberry clan gathering.”