"Well, Miss Dane--Mollie!" the baronet said, eagerly, "have you decided?

What is it to be--yes or no?"

And Mollie looked up in his face with those starry, azure eyes, and that bewildering smile, and answered sweetly:

"Yes!"

CHAPTER V.

MOLLIE'S MISCHIEF.

Miss Dane returned to New York "engaged," and with the fact known to none save herself and the enraptured Welshman.

"There is no need to be in a hurry," the young lady said to her elderly adorer; "and I want to be safely at home before I overwhelm them with the news. There is always such fussing and talking made over engagements, and an engagement is dreadfully humdrum and doweryish anyhow."

That was what Miss Dane said. What she thought was entirely another matter.

"I do want Doctor Oleander and Mr. Sardonyx to propose; and if they discover I've accepted the baronet, they won't. I am dying to see the wry faces they will make over 'No, thanks!' Then there is Hugh Ingelow--"

But Mollie's train of wicked thoughts was apt to break off at this point, and a remorseful expression cloud her blue eyes.

"Poor Hugh! Poor fellow! It's a little too bad to treat him so; and he's dreadfully fond of me, too. But, then, it's impossible to help it; of course it is. I want to be rich, and wear diamonds, and travel over the world, and be 'My Lady!' and poor, dear Hugh couldn't keep a cat properly. Ah! what a pity all the nice men, and the handsome men, must be poor!"

Faithfully in the train of the Walraven party returned Mollie's adorers.

No one was surprised at the continued devotion of Messrs. Ingelow and Oleander; but every one was surprised at Sir Roger Trajenna.

"Is it possible that proud old man has really fallen seriously in love with that yellow-haired, flighty child?" asked Mrs. Carl Walraven in angry surprise. "He was attentive at Washington, certainly; but I fancied his absurd old eyes were only caught for the moment. If it should prove serious, what a thing it will be for her! and these antediluvians, in their dotage, will do such ridiculous things. My Lady Trajenna! Detestable little minx! I should like to poison her!"

Miss Dane carried on her flirtations, despite her engagement, with her three more youthful admirers.

Now and then Sir Roger, looking on with doting, but disapproving eyes, ventured on a feeble remonstrance.

"It is unfair to yourself and unfair to me, my darling," he said. "Every smile you bestow upon them is a stab to me. Do let me speak to Mr.

Walraven, and end it at once."

But still Mollie refused to consent.

"No, no, Sir Roger; let me have my own way a little longer. There is no need of your being jealous. I don't care a straw for the three of them.

Only it is such fun. Wait a little longer."

Of course the fair-haired despot had her way.

The second week of their return Mr. and Mrs. Walraven were "at home" to their friends, and once more the s.p.a.cious halls and stair-ways were ablaze with illumination, and the long ranges of rooms, opening one into another, were radiant with light, and flowers, and music, and brilliant ladies.

Mrs. Walraven, superb in her bridal robes, stood beside her husband, receiving their guests. And Miss Mollie Dane, in shimmering silk, that blushed as she walked, and cl.u.s.ters of water-lilies drooping from her tinseled curls, was as lovely as Venus rising from the sea-foam.

Here, there, everywhere, she flashed like a gleam of light; waltzing with the dreamy-eyed artist, Hugh Ingelow, hanging on the arm of Dr.

Oleander, chattering like a magpie with Lawyer Sardonyx, and anon laughing at all three with Sir Roger Trajenna.

You might as well have tried to regulate the vagaries of a comet--as well guess from what quarter the fickle wind would next blow.

"Women are all puzzles," said Dr. Oleander, in quiet despair to Mrs.

Walraven. "That is a truism long and tried; but, by Jove! Miss Mollie Dane puts the toppers on the lot. I never met with such a bewildering sprite."

"Odious, artful creature!" hissed the bride of Carl Walraven. "It is all her crafty scheming to attract the attention of that h.o.a.ry-headed simpleton, Sir Roger Trajenna. If you are in love with her, Guy (and how you can is a mystery to me), why don't you propose at once?"

"Because I am afraid, madame."

"Afraid!" scornfully--"afraid of a goosey girl of seventeen! I never took you for a born idiot before, Guy Oleander."

"Thanks, my fair relative! But it is quite as disagreeable to be refused by a 'goosey girl of seventeen' as by a young lady of seven-and-twenty.

Your age, my dear Blanche, is it not?"

"Never mind my age!" retorted Mrs. Walraven, sharply. "My age has nothing to do with it. If you don't ask Mollie Dane to-night, Hugh Ingelow or James Sardonyx will to-morrow, and the chances are ten to one she accepts the first one who proposes."

"Indeed! Why?"

"Oh, for the sake of being engaged, being a heroine, being talked about.

She likes to be talked about, this bewildering fairy of yours. She isn't in love with any of you; that I can see. It isn't in her shallow nature, I suppose, to be in love with anybody but her own precious self."

"My dear Mrs. Walraven, are you not a little severe? Poor, blue-eyed Mollie! And you think, if I speak to-night, I stand a chance?"

"A better chance than if you defer it. She may say 'yes' on the impulse of the moment. If she does, trust me to make her keep her word."

"How?"

"That is my affair. Ah! what, was that?"

The cousins were standing near one of the long, richly draped windows, and the silken hangings had fluttered suddenly.

"Nothing but the wind," replied Dr. Oleander, carelessly. "Very well, Blanche, I take you at your word. I will ask Mollie to-night."

Mrs. Walraven nodded, and turned to go.

"Ask her as quickly as possible. You are to dance the polka quadrille with her, are you not? After the polka quadrille, then. And now let us part, or they will begin to think we are hatching another Gunpowder Plot."

"Or Mr. Carl Walraven may be jealous," suggested Dr. Oleander, with an unpleasant laugh. "I say, Blanche, the golden-haired Mollie couldn't be his daughter, could she?"

Mrs. Walraven's black eyes flashed.

"Whoever she is, the sooner she is out of this house the better. I hate her, Doctor Oleander--your Fair One with the Golden Locks, and I could go to her funeral with the greatest pleasure!"

The plotting pair separated. Hardly were they gone when the silken curtains parted and a bright face, framed in yellow ringlets, peeped out, sparkling with mischief.

"Two women in one house, two cats over one mouse, never agree," quoth Mollie. "Listeners never hear any good of themselves, but, oh! the opportunity was irresistible. So Doctor Guy Oleander is going to propose, and Mollie Dane is to say 'yes' on the impulse of the moment, and Mamma Blanche is to make her stick to her word! And it's all to happen after the polka quadrille! Very well; I'm ready. If Doctor Oleander and his cousin don't find their match, my name's not Mollie!"