"Eccentricity is a little too mild a word to apply to your ward's actions, Mr. Walraven," she said, turning angrily upon her husband. "Mollie Dane is either a very mad girl or a very wicked one. In either case, she is a fit subject for a lunatic asylum, and the sooner she is incased in a strait-jacket and her antics ended, the better." "Madame!" thundered Mr. Walraven, furiously, while the baronet reddened with rage to the roots of his silvery hair. "Oh, I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Walraven," said Mrs. Walraven, coolly, "not afraid to speak my mind, either. None but a lunatic would act as she has acted, running away on her wedding-night and coming back a fortnight after. The idea of her being forcibly abducted is all stuff and nonsense. Heaven only knows where the past two weeks have been spent!" "Mrs. Walraven," said the Welsh baronet; with awful, suppressed passion, "you forget you speak of my future wife." "I forget nothing, Sir Roger Trajenna. When Miss Dane gives a satisfactory explanation of her conduct it will be quite time enough to take her part. Mr. Walraven are you going to eat your breakfast, or am I to take it alone?" Mr. Walraven seized the bell-rope and nearly tore it down. A maid-servant appeared. "Go up to Miss Dane's room and tell her we are waiting breakfast!" roared Mr. Walraven in a stentorian voice. The girl obeyed in dire alarm. In an instant she was back. "Miss Dane's not up yet, and says she doesn't expect to be for some time. She says you'd better not wait for her, as you will very likely be painfully hungry if you do." "I thought so," remarked Mrs. Carl, shortly. Mr. Walraven bit his lip, the baronet looked like a thundercloud, but both took their places. To all but the mistress of the mansion the breakfast business was a dead failure. Mrs. Carl ate with a very good appetite, finished her meal, arose, rang the bell, and ordered the carriage to be ready in an hour. The gentlemen adjourned to the library to smoke and wait. The hour elapsed. Mrs. Walraven departed in state, and dead calm fell upon the house. Another hour--the waiting twain were growing fidgety and nervous, crackling their newspapers and puffing at their cigars. "I vow that mad girl is making me as hysterical as a cranky old maid!" growled Mr. Walraven. "If she doesn't appear in half an hour, I'll go up to her room and carry her down willy-nilly!" "Would yon really be so cruel, guardy?" said a soft voice, and wheeling round, the astonished pair saw the culprit before them. "Have you no pity for your poor little Mollie, and can't you let her be as lazy as she pleases? Good-morning, Sir Roger Trajenna." How lovely Mollie looked! The golden curls fell in a shining shower over the dainty white cashmere robe, belted with blue velvet, soft white lace and a diamond pin sparkling at the rounded throat. She came forward with a bright smile and outstretched hand to greet them.