On Monday they woke to a white world, and then there was snow balling in the back garden, and then a long walk down Cheyne Walk and across the bridge to Battersea Park. And Mollie went with them, on her father's arm; and when she got tired, which she did far too soon, Noel took her home, grumbling at every step, and Waveney and her father went on. It was Everard's greatest pleasure to walk with his girls, but no companion suited him like Waveney; her light, springy step hardly seemed to touch the ground--and then she was so strong and active, and nothing seemed to tire her. Mollie's sad limp always made his heart ache. As they stood looking at some floating ice in the river, Everard asked a little abruptly if Mollie had written to Mr. Ingram. Waveney shook her head. The question rather surprised her. "Why, no, father," she replied, slowly; "we do not know Mr. Ingram's address, so I persuaded Mollie to wait until he calls." "Well, perhaps you are right," returned Mr. Ward, doubtfully. "But Waveney, child, I am getting a little bothered about things. I like the fellow, I like him better every time I see him--he has real grit in him, and he is a gentleman; but I never saw a girl courted after this fashion." "What do you mean, father?" asked Waveney, a little timidly; for she and Mollie were not at all up to date, and their shyness and reticence on this subject were quite old-fashioned. "Why, any child can see that Ingram worships the ground Mollie walks on," returned Mr. Ward, with a touch of impatience in his voice. "When she looked at him, with her big, innocent eyes, he stammered and changed colour more than once. Oh, the man is in earnest, I would take my oath of that; it is Mollie's side of the question I want to know; she ought not to encourage him by taking his presents unless she means to have him." This was plain speaking, but Mr. Ward was getting desperate. His motherless girls had no protector but himself. It was pretty to see how Waveney blushed on Mollie's account. "Father, dear," she stammered, "I can't be quite sure but I think Mollie is beginning to care a little for Mr. Ingram. She certainly misses him; he is very keen and clever, and I fancy that he understands her so well that he will not hurry things. I mean"--explaining herself with difficulty--"that he will not speak until he is certain that her heart is won." "That is my opinion, too," returned her father; and then he looked at her with tender curiosity. "Where did you gain your knowledge of men, little girl?" But Waveney had no answer ready for this question. That night, as they sat on the rug in the firelight, like two blissful salamanders, Mollie said, in a flurried and anxious voice,-- "Wave, darling, I want to consult you about something, and you must give me all your attention; you know," clearing her throat, as though it were a little dry; "we have decided that I had better not write to Mr. Ingram."