There was no use in trying to conceal the truth any longer. Mollie saw that much; and besides this, her feelings were becoming too strong for her from various causes. The afternoon had been an exciting one to her, too. So, all at once, so suddenly that Aimée was altogether unprepared for the outbreak, she gave way. The ring fell unheeded on to the carpet, slipped from her hand and rolled away, and the next instant she went down upon her knees, hiding her face on her arms on Aimée's lap, and began to cry hysterically. “It--it is to be quite a secret,” she sobbed. “I would not tell anybody but you, and I dare not tell you quite all, but he _has_ asked me to marry him, Aimée, and I have--I have said yes.” And then she cried more than ever, and caught Aimée's hand, and clung to it with a desperate, childish grasp, as if she was frightened. It was very evident that she was frightened, too. All the newly assumed womanliness was gone. It was the handsome, inexperienced, ignorant child Mollie she had known all her life who was clinging to her, Aimée felt,--the pretty, simple, thoughtless Mollie they had all admired and laughed at, and teased and been fond of. She seemed to have become a child again all at once, and she was in trouble and desperate, it was plain. “But the very idea!” exclaimed Aimée, inwardly; “the bare idea of her having the courage to engage herself to him!” “I never heard such a thing in my life,” she said, aloud. “Oh, Mollie! Mollie! what induced you to give him such a mad answer? You don't care for him.” “He--he would not take any other answer, and he is as nice as any one else,” shamefacedly. “He is nicer than Brown and the others, and--I do like him--a little,” but a tiny shudder crept over her, and she held her listener's hand more tightly. “As nice as any one else!” echoed Aimée, indignantly. “Nicer than Brown! You ought to be in leading-strings!” with pathetic hopelessness. “That was n't your only reason, Mollie.” The hat with the short crimson feather had been unceremoniously pushed off, and hung by its elastic upon Mollie's neck; the pretty curly hair was all crushed into a heap, and the flushed, tear-wet face was hidden in the folds of Aimée's dress. There was a charming, foolish, fanciful side to Mollie's desperation, as there was to all her moods. “That was not your only reason,” repeated Aimée. One impetuous, unhappy little sob, and the poor simple child confessed against her will. “Nobody--nobody else cared for me!” she cried. “Nobody?” said Aimée; and then, making up her mind to go to the point at once, she said, “Does 'nobody' mean that Ralph Gowan did not, Mollie?” The clinging hand was snatched away, and the child quite writhed. “I hate Ralph Gowan!” she cried. “I detest him! I wish--I wish--I _wish_ I had never seen him! Why could n't he stay away among his own people? Nobody wanted him. Dolly doesn't care for him, and Grif hates him. Why could n't he stay where he was?”