Lord Dreever in the rose-garden. This, however, was not the case. The woman incapable of seeing through the machinations of two men of the mental caliber of Sir Thomas Blunt and Mr. McEachern has jet to be born. For some considerable time, Molly had been alive to the well-meant plottings of that worthy pair, and had derived little pleasure from the fact. It may be that woman loves to be pursued; but she does not love to be pursued by a crowd.
Mr. McEachern cleared his throat, and began again.
"You shouldn't decide a question like that too hastily, my dear."
"I didn't—not too hastily for Lord Dreever, at any rate, poor dear."
"It was in your power," said Mr. McEachern portentously, "to make a man happy—"
"I did," said Molly, bitterly. "You should have seen his face light up. He could hardly believe it was true for a moment, and then it came home to him, and I thought he would have fallen on my neck. He did his very best to look heart-broken—out of politeness—but it was no good. He whistled most of the way back to the house—all flat, but very cheerfully."
"My dear! What do you mean?"
Molly had made the discovery earlier in their conversation that her father had moods whose existence she had not expected. It was his turn now to make a similar discovery regarding herself.