"I do care," sobbed Mollie. "How can I help it, when you have been so good to me? I think"—but Mollie whispered this with her soft cheek pressed against his shoulder as he knelt beside her—"I think I have cared for you all this time." And perhaps that moment's ecstasy fully repaid Moritz for all the pain of the last few weeks.
Moritz behaved very well on the whole. When the first few minutes of beatitude were over, Mollie's pale cheeks and tearful eyes reminded him that she was an invalid, and he forbore to overwhelm her with his delight and gratitude. He sat beside her talking quietly, while Mollie lay back on her pillows in languid happiness, listening to her lover. He was telling her how proud he was of his sobriquet, and that no other name would ever be so dear to him as "Monsieur Blackie."
"I hope you will always call me by that name, Mollie, darling. To you I would always be Monsieur Blackie."
"But Moritz is so much prettier," she objected; "and Monsieur Blackie would be so long for daily use."
And then Ingram hastened to explain, in his eager way, that he had not meant that. Of course his wife—how Mollie blushed at that—must call him Moritz; but he never intended to lose his dear old title.
"Wave often calls you the Black Prince," returned Mollie, with a low laugh. "Oh, dear, how wonderful it all seems! Do you know"—very shyly—"I never imagined that any one would ever care for me, because of my lameness. Are you sure that you do not really mind it?" and here Mollie's voice grew anxious and even sad. "I am so awkward and clumsy. You know Noel often calls me 'the wobbly one.'"
"Noel will never call you that again," returned Ingram, quite sternly. "I gave him a good lecture the other day. Why, Mollie dearest, you are simply perfect in my eyes. I am afraid to tell you how lovely and dear I think you. The wonder is that you could ever bring yourself to care for me; for, as Gwen says, I am about as ugly as they make 'em," continued Ingram, in his quaint way. And then Mollie laughed again, though there were tears in her eyes of sheer joy and gratitude.
Mollie was very humble on the subject of her own merits; she had no conception how Ingram worshipped her sweetness and beauty. His crowning triumph had been that Monsieur Blackie, and not Viscount Ralston, had won her love.
"Gwen may laugh at me, and call me a fool," he thought, "but her sarcasm and smart speech will not trouble me in the least. I have played my little game, and got my innings, and the loveliest and dearest prize in the world is mine." And then he fell to musing blissfully on the surprise in store for his sweetheart. What would Mollie say when he showed her her future home? What would she think of Brentwood Hall, and the Silent Pool, and the big conservatory that Gwen had called their winter-garden, and the long picture-gallery, where, in an obscure corner, "King Canute" hung as large as life?
Moritz smiled happily to himself as he thought of the family diamonds, over which Gwen had gloated, and which he had vainly entreated her to wear.