They moved away, and Cecil Laurens’ face grew dark and gloomy.
“The impecunious lover has come upon the scene!” he muttered, with angry sarcasm.
CHAPTER XIII.
Molly Trueheart walked under the trees with that mysterious “Johnny” for a long half hour. While Cecil Laurens in the hammock raved and fretted against the little fraud, as he began to call her in his thoughts.
“Suppose I go and bring her aunt upon the scene?” he thought, with grim resentment.
Then he mentally shook himself.
“Cecil Laurens, you ought to be ashamed of yourself! Where is your honor that you can be led away like this by petty spite? Let the girl alone. This is no business of yours!”
A few minutes later Molly and her good-looking, shabby companion came back to the rustic seat, still unobservant of the hammock and its occupant. By leaning forward a little he could look into both faces, and he noticed that Molly’s was pale and annoyed, the man’s eager and excited.
“You must not come here again,” he heard her say. “It would not be safe. And you must not go after her. She would be furious if you interfered with her plans. Better keep quiet for awhile. I will help you all I can, Johnny,” with a sob, “but you know how little I can do.”
“You are an angel,” said the man, tenderly. “If she were only you, there would be no trouble. My dear, you’ll write to me?”