"Yes, I think we shall be very comfortable, darling," went on Ingram, somewhat hypocritically, as he remembered with secret glee his thirty thousand a year. Then, as even his inexperienced eyes detected signs of exhaustion in Mollie's increasing paleness, he somewhat quickly dropped the subject. Mollie was not merely tired; she was dazed with the wonderful new happiness that had come to her. In spite of her love of pretty things, her little girlish vanities and harmless ambitions, she was far too simple-minded to be really worldly. If Moritz, in the old approved fairy-tale fashion, had suddenly filled her lap with diamonds and emeralds, they would only have dazzled Mollie's tired eyes. Later on, perhaps, these baubles and adjuncts of rank and wealth would gratify and delight her, but at this present moment she would have regarded them with indifference. It was the man, Moritz Ingram, whom she wanted. It was Monsieur Blackie, with all his quaintness, his oddities, and eccentricities, his old-world chivalry, and true, manly tenderness, whom Mollie loved and honoured. Mollie, with all her simplicity and childliness, had been wiser than most women, in going straight to the root of the matter. It was nothing to her that her chosen lover was short of stature--a small, dark man, with a sallow skin, and closely-cropped hair that would have done credit to a convict. Mollie saw nothing but the kind, dear eyes, and pleasant smile, and she would not have exchanged him for any Adonis, though he stood six feet in his stockings. Moritz's conscience was uneasy. More than once he had made an effort to go, but Mollie's soft little hand had kept him a willing prisoner. "Waveney will be here directly," she said. "She has promised to make tea for us." And at that very moment Waveney entered the room. The lamp had not been lighted, and only the firelight threw a flickering, uncertain glow over the two faces before her. But something in Mr. Ingram's attitude, in the very atmosphere of the warm, flower-scented room, made Waveney's heart beat with quick, sympathetic throbs. "Oh, what is it?" she said, stumbling a little in her haste. But, as she put out her hands to save herself, Ingram caught them in his own. "My little Samaritan," he said, affectionately, "do you know, I am going to be your brother. Will you wish me joy, dear!" And then in his airy, foreign fashion, Moritz lifted her hand to his lips. "My brother!" gasped Waveney. Well, she had expected it. But, all the same, she felt a little giddy. Mollie's Prince had come, as she knew he would, and would carry Mollie away. "Darling, come here," and Mollie stretched out her arms almost piteously. "Wave, why do you stand there, as though you were turned to stone? Don't you want me to be happy?" she whispered, as Waveney, at this appeal, knelt down beside her.