Growing surfeited with this, Molly turned her attention elsewhere, and descried Admiral Peirce close at hand, button-holing another gentleman, and holding forth to him in a loud voice on the advantages of London as a place of residence.
“Why, sir,” he was saying, “why, sir, there’s nothing after all like old Thames. Give me the blue ocean and tossing waves. But for a landsman—why, the Thames is as good as he may look to find. And I tell you what, sir, the water of the river Thames is the finest drinking-water in the world! Only has to stand and ferment a little, and then it’ll keep as long as ever you want it.[1] Yes, sir, it will indeed.”
Molly, being sublimely indifferent to the qualities of London drinking-water, which in those days was not considered a question of pressing interest, wandered farther afield. A slight pucker came between her brows, as she made out Polly at a short distance, with Captain Albert Peirce in close attendance. He was bending towards Polly, saying something in a low and confidential voice; and it was impossible from Polly’s look to know whether she were pleased or displeased.
The gay scene around faded from Molly’s vision. She was looking down, thoughtfully, at her own half-furled fan; but she did not see the fan, or the crowds of gay women around in their low dresses and hats or turbans, scarves and muffs and satin shoes. Another scene had risen before her mental eyes. She seemed again to be in a day long gone by; and Roy was giving her a boisterous kiss.
“All right, Molly!” he was calling gaily. “It’s only for two weeks, you know, and then we shall be back again.” And as Roy ran off, in high glee, she had looked up, and had seen Denham Ivor holding Polly’s hands in a firm clasp, while Polly’s sweet face was downward bent and blushing. But it was not Polly who in one moment had left an indelible impression upon Molly’s childish memory. When she thought of that day it was always Ivor’s face—the young Guardsman’s look of silent grave devotion—which unbidden came up.
“How can Mrs. Bryce say such things? He will never, never forget!” murmured Molly, her lips unconsciously moving with the energy of her own thoughts.
“Molly, this is sure scarce a place for audible meditation,” a voice said at her side.
“Jack!”
Molly’s whole face grew bright. Now she had all, or nearly all, that she wanted. She was extremely fond of Jack, and Jack of her. They were exactly like brother and sister, so Molly, not Jack, often stated. He was quite next to Roy in her estimation. Roy held inviolate the first place in his twin-sister’s affections; but Jack came closely after.
“Were you spouting Mr. Scott’s last new poem, Molly?” demanded Jack, as he deposited himself in an empty chair by her side.