To plain persons every word that this girl had spoken would have been a clear announcement of her decision. To this young man no such intention was conveyed. Still in the fulness of his self-conceit, the sacrifice he himself proposed in actually marrying a girl with such family connections seemed so enormous, while the prospect of becoming his wife seemed to him so dazzling, that he was totally unable to understand any hesitation. Molly was whimsical; she did not like to surrender her independence. He liked her the better for it. No meek submissive maiden, however lovely, would be able to command that sacrifice. And, besides, there was that strange magic about the girl's face and eyes and voice, that in her presence, as has been explained already, the young man's mind was full of yearnings after transports unspeakable--after the Flowery Way, where the dancers are, with the castanets and the champagne and raptures that even the newest Art cannot bestow. "Humphrey," she said, "suppose that in a moment--all in a moment--the things you value most in the world should vanish?" "My Art? My genius?" "No; not such genius as you may possess. That is not what you value most. I mean your birth and rank and position in the world. Suppose that were to vanish suddenly away?" "You talk nonsense." "I say, suppose it were to vanish suddenly away--suppose you were to become--say--one of my cousins--born like them----" "Molly, don't waste time in talking nonsense." "Well, perhaps---- Oh, here is Hilarie." The library was now deserted, save for these two, when Hilarie appeared at the door. Her face, always grave, was now stern. Humphrey saw the look on her face and coloured, conscience-stricken. With her came his other cousin, also looking grave. "Molly dear," said Hilarie, "has Sir Humphrey been pressing you?" The young man became confused and agitated. He understood. "He has. He wants me to promise to go into hiding with a secret marriage. He is unable to understand that the sacrifice could not be compensated even by his society." Hilarie turned to Sir Humphrey. "I asked you here to-night," she said, "in order to arrange this little scene. Molly, you can read this letter." Molly read it, and looked up from the page into the shamefaced cheeks of Humphrey. "I--I--I must go," said the double lover. "Good night, Molly." "No, sir. Not before Molly has read the letter." Richard moved a step towards the door. Molly read it, and looked up amazed. She read it again, and her cheek flamed. And a third time. Then she returned the letter to Hilarie. "Wretch!" she said. Since Hilarie used the same word to express the same idea, there is no doubt that the dictionary ought to have a special line on this meaning of the word "wretch." "Do you understand it, Molly?" "There can be no doubt about it, Hilarie. Won't you make him go?"