The uproar in the great thoroughfare below answered her effectually.

She rose up and walked to one of the windows. Life was all astir on the noisy pave. The crowds coming and going, the rattle and clatter were unspeakably delightful, after the dead stagnation of her brief imprisonment.

"How did we come here?" asked Mollie, at length, turning round. "The last I remember I was dropping asleep in the buggy."

"And you stayed asleep--sound--all the way," replied Mrs. Sharpe. "You slept like the dead. Mr. Ingelow lifted you out and carried you up here, and you never woke. I was asleep, too; but he made no ado about rousing me up. You were quite another matter."

Mollie blushed.

"How soundly I must have slept! What's the hour, I wonder?"

"About half past eight."

"Is that all? And where is Mr. Ingelow?"

"Gone to get his breakfast and send us ours. Hadn't you better wash and comb your hair, Miss Dane? Here is the lavatory."

Miss Dane refreshed herself by a cold ablution, and combed out her beautiful, shining tresses.

As she flung them back, a quick, light step came flying upstairs, a clear voice sounded, whistling: "My Love is But a La.s.sie Yet."

"That's Mr. Ingelow," said Susan Sharpe, decisively.

The next instant came a light rap at the door.

"The room is thine own," said Mollie, in French. "Come in."

"Good-morning, ladies," Mr. Ingelow said, entering, handsome and radiant. "Miss Dane, I trust you feel refreshed after your journey?"

"And my long sleep? Yes, sir."

"And ready for breakfast?"

"Quite ready."

"That is well, for here it comes."

As he spoke, a colored personage in a white ap.r.o.n entered, staggering under the weight of a great tray.

"Breakfast for three," said Mr. Ingelow, whipping off the silver covers.

"Set chairs, Sam. Now, then, ladies, I intended to breakfast down at the restaurant; but the temptation to take my matinal meal in such fair company was not to be resisted. I didn't try to resist it, and--here we are!"

Mollie sat beside him, too pretty to tell, and smiling like an angel. At Seventeen, one night is enough to make us as happy as a seraph. For golden-haired, blue-eyed Mollie earth held no greater happiness, just then, than to sit by Hugh Ingelow's side and bask in the light of his smile.

"Delightfully suggestive all this, eh?" said the artist, helping his fair neighbor bountifully.

And Mollie blushed "celestial, rosy red."

"What comes next?" she asked. "After breakfast--what then?"

"That is for Mistress Mollie to decide."

"I am not to go home until this evening?"

"Not if you wish to give unlucky Oleander his _coup de grace_. Poor devil! I pity him, too. If you intend to make your _entree_ like the ghost of Banquo at the feast, you can't appear, of course, until evening."

"Must I stay here all day?"

"Will it be so very hard?" with an eloquent glance. "I shall be here."

"No, no!" Mollie said, hastily, blushing and laughing. "It would be light penance, in any case; to spend a day here, after a fortnight down yonder. What I mean is, I might improve the time by going to see Miriam."

"If you wait, Miriam may improve the time by coming to see you."

"No! What does she know about your studio?"

"Heaps!" said Mr. Ingelow, coolly. "It isn't the first time ladies have come to my studio."

"I know; but Miriam--"

"It isn't the first time for Miriam, either."

Mollie opened wide her eyes.

"I protest, Mr. Ingelow, I didn't know you were acquainted with her at all."

"Which proves you are not _au fait_ of all my lady acquaintances. But, to solve the riddle, it was Miriam who first came here and put me on your track."

The blue eyes opened wider.

"You see," said Mr. Ingelow, with the air of one entering upon a story, "she knew about your appointment that night, and was at the place of rendezvous, all silent and unseen. She saw you go off in the carriage with that man, and took it into her head that something was wrong. She called at Mr. Walraven's that day, and found you were missing--no tale nor tidings to be had of you. Then, what does she do but come to me?"

Mr. Ingelow looked full at the young lady as he spoke, and once more Mollie was silly enough to blush.

"I really don't know how it was," pursued Mr. Ingelow, with provoking deliberation, "but Madame Miriam had taken it into her head that I was the man you had gone to meet. Extraordinary, wasn't it? She thought so, however, and was taken all aback to find me quietly painting here."

Mollie did not dare to look up. All her saucy _insouciance_ was gone.

Her face was burning. She felt as though it would be an infinite relief to sink through the floor. The floor not being practicable for the purpose, she stole a look at Mrs. Sharpe; but Mrs. Sharpe sat with the face of a wooden figure-head, intent on the business of eating and drinking.

"Miriam and I had a long and confidential talk," the young artist continued, "and came to the conclusion that Doctor Oleander was at the bottom of the matter, and that, wherever you were, you were an unwilling prisoner. Of course, to a gentleman of my knight-errantry, that was sufficient to fire my blood. I put lance in rest, buckled on my armor, mounted my prancing charger, and set off to the ogre's castle to rescue the captive maiden! And for the rest, you know it. I came, I saw, I conquered--Doctor Oleander!"

"Which means," Mollie said, trying to laugh, "you imposed Mrs. Sharpe here upon Doctor Oleander as the nurse for his purpose, and fooled him to the top of his bent. Well, Mr. Ingelow, you have gone to a great deal of trouble on my account, and I am very much obliged to you."

"Is that all?"

"Is that not enough?"

"Hardly. I don't labor for such poor pay. As you say, I have gone to a great deal of trouble, and lost three nights' sleep running. I want something more than 'thank you' for all that."

Mollie tried to laugh--all in a flutter.