It had come, long ere this, to be a settled thing that the Welsh baronet should never leave her side, except while she was dancing. So that when, a little before supper, they strolled out on the piazza, it was nothing surprising or remarkable. The winter night was windless and mild. Sir Roger's asthmatic and rheumatic afflictions were quite safe in the warm atmosphere. Moonlight flooded everything with its misty glory, stars spangled the sky, music came softened by distance from the ball-room--all was conducive to love and to love-making. Sir Roger Trajenna, inspired by the music, the moonlight, and the charming little beauty beside him, there and then laid name, heart, and fortune at Miss Dane's fair feet. There was a pause. Even Mollie felt a little fluttered, now that the time had come. "I know the disparity of years is great," the baronet said, quite trembling in his eagerness; "but my whole existence will be devoted to you; every pleasure wealth can purchase shall be yours; every wish that I can anticipate shall be anticipated. You will be my darling, my idol. I love you passionately. Say not, then, I am too old." "I don't," said Mollie--"I don't mind your age in the least. I rather dislike young men; I've had such a surfeit of them." "Then I may hope?" breathlessly. "Oh, yes, Sir Roger, you may hope. I am not in love with anybody else that I know of." "And you will be my wife?" "Ah, that's another thing! I don't seem to care about being married, somehow. You must give me time, Sir Roger. Come, let us go in to supper. I will tell you by and by." "As you please, my beautiful Mollie. Only don't keep me waiting too long, and let your answer be 'yes' when it comes." Miss Dane partook of supper with a very good appetite, accepted Mr. Ingelow for a waltz and Dr. Oleander for a quadrille, smiled sweetly and graciously upon both, and took Sir Roger's arm, at the close of the ball, for the carriage. "Well, Miss Dane--Mollie!" the baronet said, eagerly, "have you decided? What is it to be--yes or no?" And Mollie looked up in his face with those starry, azure eyes, and that bewildering smile, and answered sweetly: "Yes!" CHAPTER V. MOLLIE'S MISCHIEF. Miss Dane returned to New York "engaged," and with the fact known to none save herself and the enraptured Welshman. "There is no need to be in a hurry," the young lady said to her elderly adorer; "and I want to be safely at home before I overwhelm them with the news. There is always such fussing and talking made over engagements, and an engagement is dreadfully humdrum and doweryish anyhow." That was what Miss Dane said. What she thought was entirely another matter. "I do want Doctor Oleander and Mr. Sardonyx to propose; and if they discover I've accepted the baronet, they won't. I am dying to see the wry faces they will make over 'No, thanks!' Then there is Hugh Ingelow--"