Terrible as the shock was to her, she was calm, and did remember how much might depend upon her. She forgot Grif and the happy evening she had promised herself; she forgot all the world but Mollie,--handsome, lovable, innocent Mollie, who was rushing headlong and unconsciously to misery and ruin. A great, sharp change seemed to come upon her as she turned to Ralph Gowan. She was not the same girl who, a minute or so before, had nodded at her pretty self in the glass; the excited blood tingled in her veins; she was full of desperate, eager bravery,--she could not wait a breath's space. “Come!” she exclaimed, “I am ready. You can tell me the rest when we are in the cab.” She did not even know where they were going until she heard Gowan give the driver the directions. But, as they drove through the streets, she learned all. In spite of his efforts, it was not until the eleventh hour that he had succeeded in obtaining positive proof of the truth of the report, though he had found less cause to doubt it each time he made fresh inquiries. In the end he had been driven to the necessity of appealing to a man who had been Chandos's confidential valet, and who, rascal though he was, still was able to produce proofs to be relied on. Then he had been roused to such indignation that he had driven to the fellow's lodgings with the intention of confronting him with his impudent guilt, and there he had made the fearful discovery that he had just left the place with “a pretty, childish-looking girl,--tall, and with a lovely color,” as the landlady described her; and he had known it was Mollie at once. The good woman had given him all particulars. They had come to the house together in a cab, and the young lady had not got out, but had remained seated in it while her companion had given his orders to his servant indoors. She--his housekeeper--had heard him say something about Brussels, and, having caught a glimpse of the charming face in the vehicle outside, she had watched it from behind the blinds, suspecting something out of the common order of things. “Not that he did not treat her polite and respectful enough,” she added; “for he did and she--pretty young thing--seemed quite to expect it, and not to be at all ashamed of herself, though she were a trifle shy and timid. I even heard him ask her if she would rather he rode outside, and she said she 'thought so, if he pleased,' And he bowed to her and went, quite obedient. That was what puzzled me so; if he 'd ha' been freer, I could have understood it.” “It does not puzzle me!” cried Dolly, clenching her hands and fairly panting for breath when she heard it. “He knows how innocent she is, and he is too crafty to alarm her by his manner. Oh, cannot we make this man drive faster?--cannot we make him drive faster?” Gowan drew out his watch and referred to it.