"I didn't—not too hastily for Lord Dreever, at any rate, poor dear."
"It was in your power," said Mr. McEachern portentously, "to make a man happy—"
"I did," said Molly, bitterly. "You should have seen his face light up. He could hardly believe it was true for a moment, and then it came home to him, and I thought he would have fallen on my neck. He did his very best to look heart-broken—out of politeness—but it was no good. He whistled most of the way back to the house—all flat, but very cheerfully."
"My dear! What do you mean?"
Molly had made the discovery earlier in their conversation that her father had moods whose existence she had not expected. It was his turn now to make a similar discovery regarding herself.
"I mean nothing, father," she said. "I'm just telling you what happened. He came to me looking like a dog that's going to be washed—"
"Why, of course, he was nervous, my dear."
"Of course. He couldn't know that I was going to refuse him."
She was breathing quickly. He started to speak, but she went on, looking straight before her. Her face was very white in the moon-light.
"He took me into the rose-garden. Was that Sir Thomas's idea? There couldn't have been a better setting, I'm sure. The roses looked lovely. Presently, I heard him gulp, and I was so sorry for him! I would have refused him then, and put him out of his misery, only I couldn't very well till he had proposed, could I? So, I turned my back, and sniffed at a rose. And, then, he shut his eyes—I couldn't see him, but I know he shut his eyes—and began to say his lesson."