"Because I want to write to him." "Do you? And what----? No, I have not got his address; I don't believe I ever had it. How shall you manage?" "I dare say I have it somewhere myself; don't trouble," says Molly, knowing guiltily it lies just beneath her hand within the table-drawer. She is glad of a respite, Letitia having forborne to press the question. Not for long, however; human nature can stand a good many things, but curiosity conquers most. "Why are you writing to Signor Marigny?" Letitia asks, in a gentle tone of indifference, after a full five minutes' pause, during which she has been devoured with a desire to know. "Because I believe he will help me," says Molly, slowly. "I have been thinking, Letty,--thinking very seriously,--and I have decided upon making my fortune--_our_ fortune--out of my voice." "Molly!" "Well, dear, and why not? Do not dishearten me, Letty; you know we must live, and what other plan can you suggest?" "In London I thought perhaps we might get something to do,"--mournfully,--"and there no one would hear of us. I have rather a fancy for millinery, and one of those large establishments might take me, while you could go as a daily governess," regarding her sister doubtfully. "Governess! oh, no! The insipidity, the drudgery of it, would kill me. I should lose sight of the fact that I was my own mistress in such genteel slavery. Besides, as a concert singer (and I _can_ sing), I should earn as much in one night, probably, as I should otherwise in a year." "Oh, Molly!"--clasping her hands--"I cannot bear to think of it. It is horrible; the publicity,--the dreadful ordeal. And you of all others,--my pretty Molly----" "It is well I am pretty," says Molly, with a supreme effort at calmness; "they say a pretty woman with a voice takes better." "Every word you say only convinces me more and more how cruel a task it would be. And Molly, darling, I know he would not wish it." "I think he would wish me to do my duty," says Molly, gazing with great tearless eyes through the window into space, while her slender fingers meet and twine together nervously. "Letitia, why cannot you be thankful, as I am, that I have a voice,--a sure and certain provision?--because I know I can sing as very few can. (I say this gratefully, and without any vanity.) Why, without it we might starve." "And what will Tedcastle say? For, in spite of all your arguments, Molly, I am sure he is devoted to you still." "That must not matter. Our engagement, to all intents and purposes, is at an end, because"--sighing--"we shall never marry. He is too poor, and I am too poor, and, besides"--telling her lie bravely,--"I do not wish to marry him." "I find it hard to believe you," says Letitia, examining the girl's face critically. "Do you mean to tell me you have ceased to care for him?"