He stopped beside Mollie June's chair, which was nearest the open side of the alcove. All the members of the dinner party regarded him anxiously; Aunt Mary's face was more than usually grim. Carefully pitching his voice so that it should be audible to all at the table yet should not carry to the main dining room without, he said:
"I am tremendously sorry to have to desert this pleasant company, but Mr. Rockwell and I are called away on important business. We should be very glad if you will come too, Father Murray.--Can you come at once?" he added as the priest stared.
Aunt Mary's lips opened.
"I'll explain later," said Merriam hurriedly.
As he spoke, however, he realised that no opportunity to "explain later" would probably be afforded him. Alicia had said they "all" would go to see him in the morning at the Nestor House. They could not "all" come to Jennie's.
He looked down at Mollie June. She was looking up at him. His view of her from above--the contour of her face and throat, the recalcitrant wave of her soft hair, the brightness of her lifted eyes--might have moved older and colder blood than Merriam's. He was close enough to catch a faint, warm sense of her in the air. He desired to envelop her in love. What he might do he could not resist. He laid his hand gently over one of hers that rested on the edge of the table and bent to her ear.
"Mr. Rockwell will tell you to-morrow what I have done," he whispered. "It is for your sake, Mollie--June."
He straightened up. He was not flushed outwardly. He looked almost cold. Father Murray was making his way down the side of the table.
"Good night, all," said Merriam. "This way, Father Murray."
He glanced once more at Mollie June--his last sight of her, he thought. Her face was rosy and her eyes glistened. It was a picture for which a man--a very young man, at least--might do anything, even sacrifice his love. He smiled at her almost gaily, turned, and passed out of the alcove, Father Murray following.