Mrs. Travers was in despair, especially when the baronet rode away. At last it occurred to her that still the memory of Hemming, the adventurer, stood between her daughter and a comfortable settlement in life. Why any one should prefer the memory of a poor man to the reality of a rich one, she really could not see. She was afraid to ask Molly for a solution of the problem (having learned something by experience), so she wrote a note to her brother. Mr. Pollin came promptly, and gave ear to the narration of her troubles with polite concern. When she had made a piteous end of it, he told her that she was fretting herself quite unnecessarily. "I'll speak to Molly," he said, in a reassuring voice. "But she does not like being spoken to," complained Mrs. Travers. "Oh, she is really a sensible girl, and I am not afraid of her," said Mr. Pollin. "Had I better call her now?" suggested the lady. "Lord, no!" cried her brother. "I'll see her alone,--some other day." One morning, Molly received a visit from her bachelor uncle, much to her surprise. What little she knew of her uncle rather attracted her. More than once she had detected signs of thought, even of intellect, in his conversation. Also, she had heard something of his early career and of the articles he had written. She greeted him brightly. He held her hand, and glanced around the depressing drawing-room. "My dear, this is no place to talk," he said. "No, not to really talk," she agreed, "but it is not often used for that." Then she looked at him suspiciously. "Are you going to scold me about something, uncle?" she asked. He laughed, and shook his head. "Oh, no. I am not as courageous as I look," he replied. She wondered if this round, trim, elderly gentleman really imagined that he looked so. "I don't know where else we can go," she said. "Mother is in the morning-room, and the library is being cleaned." "If you will come for a walk," he said, with a winning hesitancy in his manner. Molly smiled. "I'll come," she answered, "though I am quite sure you have something very disagreeable to say, otherwise why all this trouble?" "My dear girl," began Mr. Pollin, "I do not wonder at your suspicion. Really, though, it is without grounds. I simply want to become better acquainted with an interesting and charming niece whom I have hitherto somewhat neglected." "Then it is a matter of duty," laughed Molly. "On your part, my dear," replied her uncle, with a gallant bow. "Then wait a moment," she said, and left the room. The moment lengthened into twenty minutes, at the end of which time Miss Travers reappeared, gowned for the street. "By gad, I don't blame the young fools!" muttered Mr. Pollin to himself, as he followed her down the steps. At first their conversation was of trivialities. It soon worked around to books, and Molly found, to her delight and surprise, that her uncle had not altogether forsaken his first love, to wit,--literature.