Vagabondia was itself again in these days, but it was turning its brighter side outward. Phil was winning success, too, his position in the world of art was becoming secured, and Bloomsbury Place was to be touched up and refurnished gradually. Aimée had promised to make her home with Dolly until such time as her sweet little saint's face won her a home of her own. Miss MacDowlas had been adopted into the family circle, and was conscious of being happier than she had ever felt since her long-past youth slipped from her grasp. Tod's teeth were “through,” as Mrs. Phil phrased it, and convulsions had not supervened, to the ecstasy of his anxious admirers. And Mollie,--well, Mollie waltzed with Ralph Gowan again on the night of Dolly's reception, and when the dance was at an end, she went and seated herself near her hostess upon the green sofa--it was a green sofa, though a far more luxurious one than Dolly and Grif had ever dared to set their hearts upon in the olden days. “Dolly,” she said, blushing for the last time in this history of mine, and looking down at her bouquet of waxen-white camellias and green leaves,--“Dolly, I suppose Aimée has told you that I am engaged to--to--” “To Mr. Gowan,” suggested Dolly. “Yes,” answered Mollie, “to Mr. Gowan.” End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Vagabondia, by Frances Hodgson Burnett