“What’s his name?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“What’s his name?”
Virginia did not catch Molly’s whisper.
A disbelieving grunt fell from the stranger’s lips.
“I remember him as a boy. Weren’t they one summer at the Mottville Hotel? He’s years younger than you.”
Molly gathered courage.
“He doesn’t know how old I am,” she responded, “and his mother loves me, too. They were with me three summers.” Then, remembering the man’s statement, she added, “Ages don’t count nowadays. And I will be happy.”
“You’ll get happiness with me, not with him,” said an angry voice. “Has he ever told you he loved you?”
“No, no, indeed not. But he was here to-day! His mother’s ill and wanted me to come as her companion, but I couldn’t leave father right now.”