O'Rourke sent Mr. Pollin's letter back to Hemming, and Molly treasured it, unopened, among her dearest possessions. Mr. Pollin had several serious talks with his sister, but for all the good that came of them he might have saved his breath to blow smoke with. That cantankerous, silly old lady, firmly believing that her daughter had treated her unkindly, refused to have anything more to do with Hemming. Before a few friends as biased or stupid as herself she posed as a Christian martyr. What a pity there were no pagan emperors around, with boiling oil and thumbscrews!
One morning, about three weeks after Hemming's return, he and Molly rode together in Hyde Park. Despite Mrs. Travers, and thanks to Mr. Pollin's library and another friend's saddle-horses, they managed to meet for several hours every day. On this occasion, as they walked their horses shoulder to shoulder, they seemed deep in some great plan.
"I think good old Santosa has had his finger in it," said Hemming. "You see, he married the daughter of the secretary of war not very long ago. Rio is a beautiful place," he continued, "and a general, even of the Brazilian army, is not a person to be lightly treated. Remember that, dear!"
"It will be simply glorious," cried Molly. "But are you quite sure that I have enough clothes, and that there is no immediate danger of a revolution?"
"I should think one gown would be enough for one wedding," he replied, smiling, "and as for a revolution—bah! Brazil is as safe as a nursery these days."
"You must promise me not to give up your writing," she said.
"I could not give it up if I tried. I am under contract for two novels inside the next two years," he answered.
Molly shook her head at that. They touched their nags to a canter, and for a little while rode in silence.
"You took your time to find out," called Molly, presently.
"I am afraid I can't make it any clearer to you," he replied.