She was uneasily conscious that for some reason or other Molly was in a state of tension, alternating between abnormally high spirits and the depths of depression, and the recollection of that unpleasant little episode of her indebtedness to Lester Kent lingered disagreeably in Sara's mind.
She had seen the man once, in Oldhampton High Street—Molly, at that time still clothed in penitence, had pointed him out to her—and she had received an unpleasing impression of a lean, hatchet face with deep-set, dense-brown eyes, and of a mouth like that of a bird of prey.
She felt reluctant to go away and leave things altogether to chance, and finally, unable to come to any decision, she carried Elisabeth's letter down to Selwyn's study and explained the position.
His face clouded over at the prospect of her departure.
“We shall miss you abominably,” he declared. “But of course”—ruefully—“I can quite understand Mrs. Durward's wanting you to go back to them for a time, and I suppose we must resign ourselves to being unselfish. Only you must promise to come back again—you mustn't desert us altogether.”
She laughed.
“You needn't be afraid of that. I shall turn up again like the proverbial bad penny.”
“All the same, make it a promise,” he urged.
“I promise, then, you distrustful man! But about Molly?”
“I don't think you need worry about her.” Selwyn laughed a little. “The sudden accession to wealth is accounted for. It seems that she has sold a picture.”