Once on the street, Mollie certainly obeyed her. With the parcel in one arm, and with one hand thrust into the convenient pocket, she hurried on her way briskly, not even stopping once to look at the shop windows. Quite unconscious, too, was she of the notice she excited among the passers-by. People even turned to look after her more than once, as indeed they often did. The scarlet scarf twisted round her throat to hide the frayed jacket collar, and the bit of scarlet mixed with the trimmings of her hat contrasted artistically with her brown eyes, and added brightness to the color on her cheeks. It was no wonder that men and women alike, in spite of their business-like hurry, found time to glance at her and even turn their heads over their shoulders to look backward, as she made her way along the pavement. It was quite dark when she reached her destination, and Brabazon Lodge was brilliantly lighted up,--so brilliantly, indeed, that when the heavy front door was opened, in answer to her ring, she was a trifle dazzled by the flood of brightness in which Dolly's friend, the “gentleman at leisure,” seemed to stand. On stating her errand, she was handed over to a female servant, who stood in the hall. “She was to be harsked in,” she heard the footman observe, confidentially, to the young woman, “and taken to Miss Crewe's room immediate.” So she was led up-stairs, and ushered into a pretty bedroom, where she found Dolly sitting by the fire in a dressing-gown, with her hair about her shoulders. She jumped up the moment Mollie entered, and ran to her, brush in hand, to kiss her. “You are a good child,” she said. “Come to the fire and sit down. Did you have any trouble in finding the house? I was afraid you would. It was just like me to forget the dress, and I never missed it until I began to look for it, wanting to wear it to-night. How is Tod?” “He has got another tooth,” said Mollie. “I found it to-day. Dolly,” glancing round, “how nice your room is!” “Yes,” answered Dolly, checking a sigh, “but don't sigh after the fleshpots of Egypt, Mollie. One does n't see the dullest side of life at Bloomsbury Place, at least.” “Is it dull here?” asked Mollie. Dolly shrugged her expressive shoulders. “Berlin-wool work is n't exciting,” she said. “How did you leave Griffith?” “Low-spirited,” replied Mollie. “I heard him tell Aimée this afternoon that he could n't stand it much longer.” Dolly began to brush her hair, and brushed it very much over her face, perhaps because she wished to take advantage of its shadow; for most assuredly Mollie caught sight of something sparkling amongst the abundant waves almost like a drop of dew. “Dolly,” she said at last, breaking the awkward little sympathetic silence which naturally followed, “do you remember our reading the 'Vicar of Wakefield'?” “Yes,” said Dolly, in a mournful half-whisper; she could not trust herself to say more.