Blanche shrugged her graceful shoulders.
"Do you implicitly trust this woman you have hired?"
"I trust no one," responded Dr. Guy, brusquely. "My mother and Sally and Peter will watch her. Although, I dare say, there may be no necessity, it is always best to be on the safe side."
"How I should like to see her—to triumph over her—to exult in her misery!" Blanche cried, her eyes sparkling.
"I dare say," said Dr. Oleander, with sneering cynicism. "You would not be a woman, else. But you will never have the chance. I don't hate my poor little captive, remember. There! is that the dinner-bell?"
"Yes—come! We have Sir Roger Trajenna to-day, and Mr. Walraven detests being kept waiting."
"Poor Sir Roger!" with a sneering laugh. "How does the lovesick old dotard bear this second loss?"
"Better than he did the first; his pride aids him. It is my husband who is like a man distraught."
"The voice of Nature speaks loudly in the paternal-breast," said Dr. Oleander. "'Nater will caper,' as Ethan Spike says. Mollie's mamma must have been a very pretty woman, Blanche."
Mrs. Walraven's black eyes snapped; but they were at the dining-room door, and she swept in as your tall, stately women in trailing silks do sweep, bowing to the baronet, and taking her place, and, of course, the subject of the interesting captive down in Long Island was postponed indefinitely.