“Chandos!” echoed Dolly. “Who is Chandos—and what did Chandos say about Mollie?”
He glanced across the room to where a tall, handsome man was bending over a fussy little woman in pink.
“That is Chandos,” he said; “and since you spoke of Mollie's visit, I recollect that, as we came into the house, Chandos was behind me and lingered a moment or so, and when he came to me afterward he asked if I had seen the face that passed us as we entered. It had roused his enthusiasm as far as it can be roused by anything.”
“It must have been Mollie,” commented Dolly, and she looked at the man on the opposite side of the room, uneasily. “Is he a friend of yours?” she asked, after scrutinizing him for a few seconds.
Gowan shrugged his shoulders.'
“Not a friend,” he answered, dryly. “An acquaintance. We have not much in common.”
“I am glad to hear it,” was Dolly's return. “I don't like Chandos.”
She could not have explained why she did not like him, but certainly she was vaguely repelled and could not help hoping that he would never see Mollie again. He was just the man to be dangerous to Mollie; handsome, polished, ready of speech and perfect in manner, he was the sort of man to dazzle and flatter any ignorant, believing child.
“Oh!” she exclaimed, half aloud, “I could not bear to think that he would see her again.”
She uttered the words quite involuntarily, but Gowan heard them, and looked at her in some surprise, and so awakened her from her reverie.