Mollie, very naturally, was overpowered. She looked a trifle ashamed of herself, and the tears came into her eyes. She drew her hand from behind her back, and held it out with a half-pettish, half-timid gesture.
“There!” she said; “if you must see it.”
And there, on her pink palm, lay a shining opal ring.
“And,” said Aimée, looking at it without offering to touch it, and then looking at her,—"and Mr. Gerald Chandos gave it to you?”
“Yes, Mr. Gerald Chandos did,” trying to brave it out, but still appearing the reverse of comfortable. “And you think it proper,” proceeded her inquisitor, “to accept such presents from a gentleman who cares nothing for you?”
Care nothing for her! Mollie drew herself upright, with the air of a Zenobia. She had had too few real love affairs not to take arms at once at such an imputation cast upon her prowess.
“He cares enough for me to want me to marry him,” she said, and then stopped and looked as if she could have bitten her tongue off for betraying her.
Aimée sat down in the nearest chair and stared at her, as if she doubted the evidence of her senses.
“To do what?” she demanded.
There was no use in trying to conceal the truth any longer. Mollie saw that much; and besides this, her feelings were becoming too strong for her from various causes. The afternoon had been an exciting one to her, too. So, all at once, so suddenly that Aimée was altogether unprepared for the outbreak, she gave way. The ring fell unheeded on to the carpet, slipped from her hand and rolled away, and the next instant she went down upon her knees, hiding her face on her arms on Aimée's lap, and began to cry hysterically.