"And ready for breakfast?"
"Quite ready."
"That is well, for here it comes."
As he spoke, a colored personage in a white apron entered, staggering under the weight of a great tray.
"Breakfast for three," said Mr. Ingelow, whipping off the silver covers. "Set chairs, Sam. Now, then, ladies, I intended to breakfast down at the restaurant; but the temptation to take my matinal meal in such fair company was not to be resisted. I didn't try to resist it, and—here we are!"
Mollie sat beside him, too pretty to tell, and smiling like an angel. At Seventeen, one night is enough to make us as happy as a seraph. For golden-haired, blue-eyed Mollie earth held no greater happiness, just then, than to sit by Hugh Ingelow's side and bask in the light of his smile.
"Delightfully suggestive all this, eh?" said the artist, helping his fair neighbor bountifully.
And Mollie blushed "celestial, rosy red."
"What comes next?" she asked. "After breakfast—what then?"
"That is for Mistress Mollie to decide."