"Is it not?" says Molly, with the utmost cheerfulness, smiling on him. She is so sorry for his defeat, which she witnessed, that her smile is one of her kindest. "If this weather might only continue, how happy we should be. Even the flowers would remain with us." She holds up the white rose in her hand for his admiration. "A lovely flower, but not so lovely as its possessor," says this insufferable old lawyer, with a smirk. "Oh, Mr. Buscarlet! I doubt you are a sad flirt," says Miss Molly, with an amused glance. "What would Mrs. Buscarlet say if she knew you were going about paying compliments all round?" "Not all round, Miss Massereene, pardon me. There is a power about beauty stronger than any other,--a charm that draws one out of one's self." With a fat obeisance he says this, and a smile he means to be fascinating. Molly laughs. In her place Marcia would have shown disgust; but Molly only laughs--a delicious laugh, rich with the very sweetest, merriest music. She admits even to herself she is excessively amused. "Thank you," she says. "Positively you deserve anything for so pretty a speech. I am sorry I have nothing better to offer, but--you shall have my rose." Still smiling, she goes close to him, and with her own white fingers places the rose in the old gentleman's coat; while he stands as infatuated by her grace and beauty as though he still could call himself twenty-four with a clear conscience, and had no buxom partner at home ready to devour him at a moment's notice. Oh, lucky, sweetly-perfumed, pale white rose! Oh, fortunate, kindly, tender manner! You little guess your influence over the future. Old Mr. Amherst, who has been watching Molly from afar, now comes grumbling toward her and leads Mr. Buscarlet away. "Grandpa is in a bad temper," says Marcia, generally, when they have quite gone. "No, you don't say so? What a remarkable occurrence!" exclaims Cecil. "Now, what _can_ have happened to ruffle so serene a nature as his?" "I didn't notice it; I was making a fresh and more lengthened examination of his features. Yet, I still adhere to my original conviction: his nose is his strong point." Mr. Potts says this as one would who had given to the subject years of mature study. "It _is_ thin," says Lady Stafford. "It is. Considering his antiquity, his features are really quite handsome. But his nose--his nose," says Mr. Potts, "is especially fine. That's a joke: do you see it? Fine! Why, it is sharper than an awl. 'Score two on the shovel for that, Mary Ann.'" For want of something better to do, they all laugh at Mr. Potts's rather lame sally. Even Mr. Longshanks so far forgets himself and his allegiance to his friend as to say "Ha-ha-ha!" out loud--a proceeding so totally unexpected on the part of Longshanks that they all laugh again, this time the more heartily that they cannot well explain the cause of their merriment.