She paused abruptly.
"Who?" pointedly asked Hugh Ingelow.
Mollie stole a side-long glance from under her sweeping lashes at the handsome face.
"Some one who loved me as well, and whom I—well, didn't exactly hate; and I do hate Doctor Oleander!"
"Which is extremely natural; at the same time wicked, I suppose. Now, Mollie, don't try to keep awake and talk, because the journey is long and dreary. Follow Mrs. Sharpe's example and go to sleep."
He wrapped her up closer; and Mollie, with a delicious sense of safety, and comfort, and sleepiness, cuddled close in her wraps and felt luxuriously happy.
She had slept very little of late. Tears had been her nightly portion, instead of slumber. Now she was happy and at rest; and the very rush of the swift wind, as they bowled along, made her drowsy. She leaned her head against his arm and fell fast asleep.