As they reach the centre of it, Cecil stops abruptly, and, saying carelessly, "I will be back in one moment," turns and leaves the room. The apartment is deserted. No sound penetrates to it. Even the very fire, in a fit of pique, has degenerated into a dull glow. Molly, with a shiver, rouses it, throws on a fresh log, and amuses herself trying to induce the tardy flames to climb and lick it until Lady Stafford returns. So busy has she been, it seems to her as though only a minute has elapsed since her departure. "This does look cozy," Cecil says, easily sinking into a lounging-chair. "Now, if those tiresome men had not gone shooting we should not be able to cuddle into our fire as we are doing at present. After all, it is a positive relief to get them out of the way,--sometimes." "You don't seem very hearty about that sentiment." "I am, for all that. With a good novel I would now be utterly content for an hour or two. By the bye, I left my book on the library table. If you were good-natured, Molly, I know what you would do." "So do I: I would get it for you. Well, taking into consideration all things, your age and growing infirmities among them, I will accept your hint." And, rising, she goes in search of the missing volume. Opening the library door with a little bang and a good deal of reckless unconsciousness, she finds herself in Mr. Amherst's presence. "Oh!" cries she, with a surprised start. "I beg your pardon, grandpapa. If"--pausing on the threshold--"I had known you were here, I would not have disturbed you." "You don't disturb me," replies he, without looking up; and, picking up the required book, Molly commences a hasty retreat. But just as she gains the door her grandfather's voice once more arrests her. "Wait," he says; "I want to ask you a question that--that has been on my mind for a considerable time." To the commonest observer it would occur that from the break to the finish of this little sentence is one clumsy invention. "Yes?" says Molly. "Have you a dress for this ball,--this senseless rout that is coming off?" says Mr. Amherst, without looking at her. "Yes, grandpapa." In a tone a degree harder. "You are my granddaughter. I desire to see you dressed as such. Is"--with an effort--"your gown a handsome one?" "Well, that greatly depends upon taste," returns Molly, who, though angry, finds a grim amusement in watching the flounderings of this tactless old person. "If we are to believe that beauty unadorned is adorned the most, I may certainly flatter myself I shall be the best dressed woman in the room. But there _may_ be some who will not call white muslin 'handsome.'" "White muslin up to sixteen is very charming," Mr. Amherst says, in a slow tone of a connoisseur in such matters, "but not beyond. And you are, I think----" "Nineteen." "Quite so. Then in your case I should condemn the muslin. You will permit me to give you a dress, Eleanor, more in accordance with your age and position."