Molly, in the presence of Lady Mary and the stick with the silver crook, was always more or less depressed and shy. She felt the pale cold eye of that lady was upon her, as indeed it generally was, if she moved or spoke. She did not therefore join in the conversation as freely as was her wont in the family circle, but sat on the grass by her uncle, watching him with adoring eyes, trying to work the signet ring off his big little finger, which in the memory of man--of Molly, I mean--had never been known to work off, while she gave him the benefit of small pieces of local and personal news in a half whisper from time to time as they occurred to her. "Cousin Ruth is staying here, Uncle Charles." "Indeed," said Charles, absently. His eyes had wandered to Evelyn taking Ralph his cup of tea, and giving him a look with it which he returned--the quiet, grave look of mutual confidence which sometimes passes between married people, and which for the moment makes the single state seem very single indeed. Molly saw that he had not heard, and that she must try some more exciting topic in order to rivet his attention. "There was a mouse at prayers yesterday, Uncle Charles." "There _wasn't_?" Uncle Charles was attending again now. Molly gave an exact account of the great event, and of how "Nanny" had gathered her skirts round her, and how James had laughed, only father did not see him, and how--There was a great deal more, and the story ended tragically for the mouse, whose final demise under a shovel, when prayers were over, Molly described in graphic detail. "And how are the guinea-pigs?" asked Charles, putting down his cup. "Come and see them," whispered Molly, insinuating her small hand delightedly into his big one; and they went off together, each happy in the society of the other. Charles was introduced to the guinea-pigs, which had multiplied exceedingly since he had presented them, the one named after him being even then engaged in rearing a large family. Then, after Molly had copiously watered her garden, and Charles's unsuspecting boots at the same time, objects of interest still remained to be seen and admired; confidences had to be exchanged; inner pockets in Charles's waistcoat to be explored; and it was not till the dressing-bell and the shrill voice of "Nanny" from an upper window recalled them, that the friends returned towards the house. As they turned to go in-doors Charles saw a tall white figure skimming across the stretches of low sunshine and long shadow in the field beyond the garden, and making swiftly for the garden gate. "Oh, Molly! Molly!" he said, in a tone of sudden consternation, squeezing the little brown hand in his. "_Who_ is that?" Molly looked at him astonished. A moment ago Uncle Charles had been talking merrily, and now he looked quite sad. "It's only Ruth," she said, reassuringly. "Who is Ruth?" "Cousin Ruth," replied Molly. "I told you she was here." "She's not _staying_ here?"