Mr. Ingelow congratulated her on her bright looks as he shook hands.
"I never saw you looking better," he said, with earnest admiration.
"Looks are deceitful, then," said Mollie, shaking her early head dolefully. "I don't think I ever felt worse, even when cooped up in Doctor Oleander's prison."
"Really! What has gone wrong now?" the artist inquired.
"Everything dreadful! The most shocking tempests in tea-pots. Guardy is going to separate from his wife!"
"Indeed!" said Mr. Ingelow, coolly. "The very best thing he could do."
"Oh, Mr. Ingelow!"
"Quite true, Mollie. She's a Tartar, if ever there was a Tartar. He committed a terrible act of folly when he married her; let him show his return to wisdom by sending her adrift. I don't pity her in the least. If he forgave her this time, she would simply despise him, and begin her machinations all over again."
"No! Do you think so? Then I'm not to blame?"
"You!" Mr. Ingelow laughed. "I should think not, indeed! Set that tender little heart of yours at rest, Mollie. Blanche Walraven is big and fierce, and able to take care of herself. Let us get rid of her quietly; if we can, and be thankful."