Then, of course, came some pleasant excitement in connection with the trousseau, in which everybody was involved. The modest hotel had never before been in such a state of mind through secret preparations, as it was when Dolly was well enough to sit up and walk about and choose patterns. Her instinct of interest in worldly vanities sustained that young person marvellously. When Grif and Aimée had returned to London she found herself well enough to give lengthy audiences to Mrs. Phil, who, with Miss MacDowlas, had taken the business of purchasing in hand, and to discuss fabrics and fashions by the hour. She remembered Grifs enthusiasm on the subject of her toilets, and she was wholly ruled by a secret and laudable ambition to render herself as irresistible as possible. She exercised to its utmost her inventive genius, and lay awake at night to devise simple but coquettish feminine snares of attire to delight and bewilder him in the future. She might well progress rapidly toward health and strength. By the time the house was ready for her reception she was well enough to drive out and explore with the rest, though she looked frail and unsubstantial by contrast with Mollie's bloom and handsome Mrs. Phil's grand curves. She was gaining flesh and color every day, but the slender throat and wrists and transparent hands were a bitter reproach to Grif even then, and it would be many weeks before she could again indulge in that old harmless vanity in her dimples and smooth roundness of form. Mollie mourned over her long, in secret, and, indeed, was so heart-wrung by the sight of the change she found in her, that the very day of her arrival had not drawn to its close before she burst upon her with a remorseful appeal for forgiveness. “But even if you forgive me I shall not forgive myself,” she said. “I shall never forget that dreadful night when I found out that it was all my fault, and that you had borne everything without telling me. If--if it had not been for--for Mr. Gowan, Dolly, I think I should have died.” “If it had not been for whom?” asked Dolly. “Mr. Gowan,” answered Miss Mollie, dropping her eyes, her very throat dyed with guilty blushes. “Ah!” said Dolly. “And what did Mr. Gowan do, Mollie?” “He was very kind--and sympathizing,” replied Mollie. “He always is sympathizing,” looking at her with affectionate shrewdness. “He is very nice, is n't he, Mollie?” “Yes,” said Mollie. “Very nice, indeed.” “And I dare say you were so frightened and wretched that you cried?” “Yes,” confessed the abashed catechised. “I thought so.” And then, conjuring up in her mind's eye a picture of Mollie, heart-broken, appealing and in tears, beauteous, piteous, and grief-abandoned, she added, with tender impulsiveness, “I don't wonder that he sympathized with you, Mollie.”