"I won't hold it up another instant," he says; "you needn't think it. I wonder Massereene wouldn't keep a decent umbrella in his hall." "What's the matter with it? I see nothing indecent about it: I think it a very charming umbrella," says Molly, examining the article in question with a critical eye. "Well, at all events, this orchard is oppressive. If you don't want to kill me, you will leave it, and come to the wood, where we may know what shade means!" "Nonsense!" returns Molly, unmoved. "It is delicious here, and I won't stir. How can you talk in that wild way about no shade, when you have this beautiful apple-tree right over your head? Come and sit at this side; perhaps," with a smile, "you will feel more comfortable--next to me?" Thus beguiled, he yields, and seats himself beside her--very much beside her--and reconciles himself to his fate. "I wish you would remember," she says, presently, "that you have nothing on your head. I would not be rash if I were you. Take my advice and open the umbrella again, or you will assuredly be having a sun-stroke." This is one for him and two for herself; and--need I say?--the family friend is once more unfurled, and waves to and fro majestically in the soft wind. "Now, don't you feel better?" asks Molly, placing her two fingers beneath his chin, and turning his still rather angry face toward her. "I do," replies he; and a smile creeping up into his eyes slays the chagrin that still lingers there, but half _perdu_. "And--are you happy?" "Very." "Intensely happy?" "Yes." "So much so that you could not be more so?" "Yes," replies he again, laughing, and slipping his arm round her waist. "And you?" tenderly. "Oh, I'm all right!" says Miss Massereene, with much graciousness, but rather disheartening vivacity. "And now begin, Teddy, and tell me all about Herst Royal and its inmates. First, is it a pretty place?" "It is a magnificent place. But for its attractions, and his twenty thousand pounds a year, I don't believe your grandfather would be known by any one; he is such a regular old bear. Yet he is fond of society, and is never content until he has the house crammed with people, from garret to basement, to whom he makes himself odiously disagreeable whenever occasion offers. I have an invitation there for September and October." "Will you go?" "I don't know. I have hardly made up my mind. I have been asked to the Careys, and the Brownes also; and I rather fancy the Brownes. They are the most affording people I ever met: one always puts in such a good time at their place. But for one reason I would go there." "What reason?" "That Herst is so much nearer to Brooklyn," with a fond smile. "And, perhaps, if I came over once or twice, you would be glad to see me?"