“What is’t now, Molly?” inquired Elizabeth, rising from her chair.
Molly blushed and was much confused. “Tea, ma’am, if you please! I thought, maybe, you’d allow the gentleman—”
“Very well,” said Elizabeth. “Be the good Samaritan if you like, child. His tea-drinking days will soon be over. Come, aunt Sally, we shall be in better company elsewhere.” And she returned to the dining-room, not deigning her prisoner another look.
Miss Sally followed, but her feelings required confiding in some one, and before she went she whispered to the embarrassed maid, “Oh, Molly, to think so sweet a young gentleman should be completely wasted!”
Molly heaved a sigh, and then approached the young gentleman himself, with whom she was now alone, saving the presence of the slumbering Valentine.
“So your name is Molly? And you’ve brought me tea this time?”
“Yes, sir,—if you please, sir.” She took up the bowl from the chair and placed the cup in its stead. “I put sugar in this, sir, but if you’d rather—”
“I’d rather have it just as you’ve made it, Molly,” 132 he said, in a singularly gentle, unsteady tone. He raised the cup, and sipped. “Delicious, Molly!—Hah! Your mistress thinks my tea-drinking days will soon be over.”
“I’m very sorry, sir.”
“So am I.” He held the cup in his left hand, supporting his upright body with his right arm, and looked rather at vacancy than at the maid. “Never to drink tea again,” he said, “or wine or spirits, for that matter! To close your eyes on this fine world! Never again to ride after the hounds, or sing, or laugh, or chuck a pretty girl under the chin!”