The blue eyes—the eyes of a very child—lifted themselves wistfully, deprecatingly, shining in tears. Hugh Ingelow was touched to the core of his heart.
"I know it, my poor little girl! It is enough to drive any one out of his senses. But let us see if we can't outwit the crafty Oleander. Put your bonnet on and come."
Mollie paused suddenly, and looked first at him, then at Mrs. Susan Sharpe, then back again.
"Well, Miss Dane," said Mr. Ingelow, "you're not afraid to come with me?"
"Afraid?" the blue eyes turned upon him with an eloquent glance. "Oh, no! But she—Mrs. Sharpe—"
"Is coming, too, of course, to play propriety," laughed Hugh. "Mrs. Sharpe," turning to that demure lady, "put on your fixings and let us fly!"
Mrs. Sharpe nodded, and turned to go into her own room.
"There's Miss Dane's things," she said, pointing to the pegs on which they hung. "I'll be back in two minutes."
Mr. Ingelow took them down, and tenderly wrapped the long mantle about the slender, girlish figure.
"Are you sure you will be warm enough, Mollie?—I beg your pardon—Miss Dane."