Captain Mottie is justly vexed. The friend of his soul has turned traitor, and actually expended a valuable laugh upon an outsider. Mrs. Darley, seeing his vexation, says, quietly, "I do not think it is good form, or even kind, to speak so of poor Mr. Amherst behind his back. I cannot bear to hear him abused." "It is only his nose, dear," says Cecil; "and even you cannot call it fat without belying your conscience." Mrs. Darley accepts the apology, and goes back to her mild flirtation. "How silly that woman is!" Cecil says, somewhat indignantly. She and Molly and one or two of the men are rather apart. "To hear her going in for simple sentiments is quite too much for me. When one looks at her, one cannot help----" She pauses, and taps her foot upon the ground, impatiently. "She is rather pretty," says Lowry, glancing carelessly at the powdered doll's face, with its wealth of dyed hair. "There was a young lady named Maud," says Sir Penthony, addressing his toes, "Who had recently come from abroad, Her bloom and her curls, Which astonished the girls, Were both an ingenious fraud. "Ah! here is Tedcastle coming across to us." Tedcastle, with the boy Darley mounted high on his shoulder, comes leisurely over the lawn and up the steps. "There, my little man, now you may run to your mother," he says to the child, who shows a morbid dislike to leave his side (all children adore Luttrell). "What! not tired of me yet? Well, stay, then." "Tea, Tedcastle?" "No, thank you." "Let me get you some more, Miss Massereene," says Plantagenet. "You came late, and have been neglected." "I think I will take a very little more. But," says Molly, who is in a tender mood, "you have been going about on duty all the evening. I will ask Mr. Luttrell to get me some this time, if he will be so kind." She accompanies this with a glance that sets Luttrell's fond heart beating. "Ah, Molly, why did you not come with Teddy and me this day, as usual?" says little Lucien Darley, patting her hand. "It was so nice. Only there was no regular sun this evening, like yesterday. It was hot, but I could see no dear little dancing sunbeams; and I asked Teddy why, and he said there could be no sun where Molly was not. What did he mean by that?" "Yes, what _could_ he have meant by that?" asks Sir Penthony, in a perplexed tone, while Molly blushes one of her rare, sweet blushes, and lowers her eyes. "It was a wild remark. I can see no sense in it. But perhaps he will kindly explain. I say, Luttrell, you shouldn't spend your time telling this child fairy tales; you will make him a visionary. He says you declared Miss Massereene had entire control over the sun, moon, and stars, and that they were never known to shine except where she was." "I have heard of the '_enfant terrible_,'" says Luttrell, laughing, to cover some confusion; "I rejoice to say I have at last met with one. Lucien, I shall tell you no more fantastic stories." CHAPTER XVIII.