“Mollie!” she exclaimed. “What is the trouble about Mollie?” “Something that puzzles me,” was the answer. “Dolly, do you know anything about Gerald Chandos?” “What!” said Dolly. “It is Gerald Chandos, is it? He is not a fit companion for her, I know that much.” And then she repeated, word for word, the conversation she had had with Ralph Gowan. Having listened to the end, Aimée shook her head. “I like Mr. Gowan well enough,” she said, “but he has been the cause of a great deal of trouble among us, without meaning to be, and I am afraid it is not at an end yet.” They were both silent for a few moments after this, and then Dolly, looking up, spoke with a touch of reluctance. “I dare say you can answer me a question I should like to ask you?” she said. “If it is about Mollie, I think I can,” Aimée returned. “You have been with her so long,” Dolly went on, two tiny lines showing themselves upon _her_ forehead this time, “and you are so quick at seeing things, that you must know what there is to know. And yet it hardly seems fair to ask. Ralph Gowan goes to Bloomsbury Place often, does he not?” “He goes very often, and he seems to care more for Mollie than for any of the rest of us.” “Aimée,” Dolly said next, “does--this is my question--does Mollie care for him?” “Yes, she does,” answered Aimée. “She cares for him so much that she is making herself miserable about him.” “Oh, dear!” cried Dolly. “What--” Aimée interrupted her. “And that is not the worst. The fact is, Dolly, I don't know what to make of her. If it was any one but Mollie, or if Mollie was a bit less innocent and impetuous, I should not be so much afraid; but sometimes she is angry with herself, and sometimes she is angry with him, and sometimes she is both, and then I should not be surprised at her doing anything innocent and frantic. Poor child! It is my impression she has about half made up her mind to the desperate resolve of making a grand marriage. She said as much the other night, and I think that is why she encourages Mr. Chandos.” “Oh, dear,” cried Dolly, again. “And does she think he wants to marry her?” “She knows he makes violent love to her, and she is not worldly-wise enough to know that Lord Burleighs are out of date.” “Out of date!” said Dolly; “I doubt if they ever were in date. Men like Mr. Gerald Chandos would hesitate at marrying Venus from Bloomsbury Place.” “If it was Ralph Gowan,” suggested Aimée. “But Ralph Gowan is n't like Chandos,” Dolly returned, astutely. “He is worth ten thousand of him. I wish he would fall in love with Mollie and marry her. Poor Mollie! Poor, pretty, headlong little goose! What are we to do with her?” “Mr. Gowan is very fond of her, in a way,” said Aimée. “If he did not care a little for you--” “I wish he did not!” sighed Dolly. “But it serves me right,” with candor. “He would never have thought of me again if I--well, if I had n't found things so dreadfully dull at that Bilberry clan gathering.”