He was gone. Hugh Ingelow alone remained—Hugh Ingelow, white and cold as a dead man. Mollie's heart smote her cruelly for the second time at sight of him. He arose as the lawyer disappeared.
"You have nothing more to say to me, Miss Dane?"
Mollie lifted her eyebrows.
"My dear Mr. Ingelow, what should I possibly have to say to you, except that we will always be most happy to see you—Sir Roger and I?"
"Always," echoed the baronet, with a stately bend.
"You are very kind. Good-day, Sir Roger Trajenna. Congratulations on so eminently suitable a match would be preposterous. Farewell, Miss Dane. I, too, know how to remember!"
With the words he passed out. Sir Roger turned with something like a frown to his bride-elect.
"What does it mean, Mollie?"
Mollie laughed—such a gay, girlish laugh!
"Can't you see, Sir Roger? They are nearly frantic with jealousy, the three of them. What fun it was to see them sitting there and scowling at one another!"