"Molly!"
She laughed, hysterically.
"He did. He said his lesson. He gabbled it. When he had got as far as, 'Well, don't you know, what I mean is, that's what I wanted to say, you know,' I turned round and soothed him. I said I didn't love him. He said, 'No, no, of course not.' I said he had paid me a great compliment. He said, 'Not at all,' looking very anxious, poor darling, as if even then he was afraid of what might come next. But I reassured him, and he cheered up, and we walked back to the house together, as happy as could be."
McEachern put his hand round her shoulders. She winced, but let it stay. He attempted gruff conciliation.
"My dear, you've been imagining things. Of course, he isn't happy. Why, I saw the young fellow—"
Recollecting that the last time he had seen the young fellow—shortly after dinner—the young fellow had been occupied in juggling, with every appearance of mental peace, two billiard-balls and a box of matches, he broke off abruptly.
Molly looked at him.
"Father."
"My dear?"
"Why do you want me to marry Lord Dreever?"