"Nonsense, Mollie! You mean Miss Oleander, I suppose? That is no flirtation." "Indeed! then it is worse--it is serious?" "Yes, if asking her to marry me be serious. And she has said yes, Mollie." Miss Dane looked at him compassionately. "You poor, unfortunate guardy! And you are really going to marry Blanche Oleander! Well, one comfort is, you will be ready to blow your brains out six months after; and serve you right, too! Don't let us talk about it to-night. I am sorry for you, and if you have any sense left you will soon be sorry for yourself. Here comes Doctor Oleander, and I mean to be as fascinating as I know how, just to drive the other two to the verge of madness." She danced away, leaving Mr. Walraven pulling his mustache, a picture of helpless perplexity. "I wonder if I have put my foot in it?" he thought, as he looked across the long room to where Blanche stood, the brilliant center of a brilliant group. "She is very handsome and very clever--so clever that I don't for the life of me know whether I made love to her or she to me. It is too late now for anything but a wedding or heavy damages, and of the two evils I prefer the first." Mrs. Walraven's dinner-party broke up very late, and Blanche Oleander went home with her cousin. "A pert, forward, bold-faced minx!" Miss Oleander burst out, the moment they were alone in the carriage. "Guy, what on earth did you mean by paying her such marked attention all evening?" "What did Carl Walraven mean by paying _you_ such marked attention all evening?" retorted her cousin. "Mr. Walraven is no flirt--he means marriage." "And I am no flirt--I mean marriage also." "Guy, are you mad? Marry that nameless, brazen creature?" "Blanche, be civil! Most assuredly I will marry her if she will marry me." "Then you will repent it all the days of your life." "Probably. I think I heard Miss Dane making a similar remark to your affianced about you." "The impertinent little wretch! Let her wait until I am Mr. Walraven's wife!" "Vague and terrible! When is it to be?" "The wedding? Next month." "Poor Walraven! There, Blanche, don't flash up, pray! When you are married you will want to get blue-eyed Mollie off your hands, so please transfer her to me, little flash of lightning that she is! I always did like unbroken colts for the pleasure of taming them." Mrs. Walraven was told of her son's approaching marriage the day after the dinner-party; disapproved, but said nothing. Mollie disapproved, and said everything. "It's of no use talking now, Mollie!" her guardian exclaimed, impatiently. "I must and will marry Blanche." "And, oh! what a pitiable object you will be twelve months after! But I'll never desert you--never strike my flag to the conqueress. 'The boy stood on the burning deck.' I'll be a second Casi--what you may call him? to you. I'll be bride-maid now, and your protector from the lovely Blanche in the future."