"Rather a sharp set-to, Miss Dane," the artist remarked, in his lazy voice. "Miss Oleander is a clever woman, but she is matched at last. I wonder why it is? You two ought to be good friends." He glanced significantly at Mr. Walraven, devoting himself to Miss Oleander, and Mollie gave her white shoulders a little shrug. "If we ought, we never will be. Coming events cast their shadows before, and I know I shall detest a guardianess. Who is that brigandish-looking gentleman over there, Mr. Ingelow? He has been staring at me steadily for the last ten minutes." "Lost in speechless admiration, no doubt. That gentleman is the celebrated Doctor Oleander, own cousin to the fair Blanche." The gentleman in question certainly was staring, but his staring was interrupted at this moment by a general uprising and retreat to the drawing-room. Mr. Ingelow, on whose arm she leaned, led her to the piano at once. "You sing, I know--Mrs. Walraven has told me. Pray favor us with one song before some less gifted performer secures this vacant seat." "What shall it be?" Mollie asked, running her white fingers over the keys. "Whatever you please--whatever you like best. I shall be sure to like it." Mollie sung brilliantly, and sung her best now. There was dead silence; no one had expected such a glorious voice as this. Hugh Ingelow's rapt face showed what he felt as Mollie rose. "Miss Dane ought to go upon the stage; she would make her fortune," said a deep voice at her elbow. She turned sharply round and met the dark, sinister eyes and pale face of Dr. Oleander. "Miss Dane forgets me," he said, with a low bow, "among so many presentations. Will you kindly reintroduce me, Mr. Ingelow?" Mr. Ingelow obeyed with no very good grace; the sparkling, blue-eyed coquette had made wild work with his artist heart already. "Mrs. Walraven desired me to bring you to her for a moment," the suave doctor said, offering his arm. "May I have the honor?" Mr. Ingelow's eyes flashed angrily, and Mollie, seeing it, and being a born coquette, took the proffered arm at once. It was the merest trifle grandmamma wanted, but it served the doctor's turn--he had got the beauty of the evening, and he meant to keep her. Mollie listened to his endless flow of complimentary small-talk just as long as she chose, and then glided coolly away to flirt with a third adorer, the eminent young lawyer, Mr. Joseph Sardonyx. Mollie hovered between those three the livelong evening; now it was the handsome artist, now the polished doctor, now the witty, satirical lawyer, flirting in the most unpardonable manner. Even Mr. Walraven was a little shocked, and undertook, in the course of the evening, to expostulate. "Flirting is all very well, Mollie," he said, "but it really mustn't be carried too far. People are beginning to make remarks." "Are they?" said Mollie; "about which of us, pray? for really and truly, guardy, you have been flirting the worst of the two."