A few minutes later Molly and her good-looking, shabby companion came back to the rustic seat, still unobservant of the hammock and its occupant. By leaning forward a little he could look into both faces, and he noticed that Molly’s was pale and annoyed, the man’s eager and excited. “You must not come here again,” he heard her say. “It would not be safe. And you must not go after _her_. She would be furious if you interfered with her plans. Better keep quiet for awhile. I will help you all I can, Johnny,” with a sob, “but you know how little I can do.” “You are an angel,” said the man, tenderly. “If she were only you, there would be no trouble. My dear, you’ll write to me?” “Yes, yes, only do keep quiet and not go after _her_, or you’ll spoil everything! I’ll write to you at the old address! Johnny, I’m sorry for you from my heart, but I’m under her thumb as well as you. We must both have patience. Good-bye, now, some one will be coming.” “Good-bye, dear,” said the man, sadly, and Cecil saw him clasp her little rosy fingers tightly in his broad palm. “God bless you, little one. I shall look for a letter soon. Write me everything about _her_, and I’ll _try_ to stay away, hard as it seems!” He sighed and turned away, going straight across the lawn to the broad gates that led to the railroad. There was something pathetic in his worn, shabby garments and slow, dejected pace in that scene of wealth and gayety, and Cecil would have been touched only for that fierce pain tugging at his heart. But he turned his eyes away from the man back to Molly, who had dropped down on her seat and was gazing after him with sad, wet eyes. He heard her murmur passionately, “It is a shame!” then she dropped her face in her hands and sobs shook her slender form. Cecil had seen Molly in many moods, but here was a new one, and it excited in him a strange feeling, that of pity mixed with a bitter resentment, as if he had suffered some personal wrong at her hands. After a minute, and still watching the sobbing girl, he began to analyze his emotions, and as a result the color flew hotly to his face and he muttered: “I have actually taken an undue and sentimental interest in this girl--pshaw, why mince matters? Through some unexplainable madness I have lost my heart to a madcap, and am suffering all the torments of jealousy because another man has a claim on her. Mrs. Barry was wiser than I thought, and is no doubt laughing in her sleeve this moment at my folly.” The flush deepened on his face, and he remained for some moments watching Molly in moody silence. It was a dangerous occupation for a man who had just found out that she was fatally fair, for Molly, as she crouched in a forlorn and drooping position on the hard bench, was a very tempting little specimen of femininity.