And in the meantime, while this apparently trivial conversation was being carried on in the studio, Mollie, in the parlor, had settled herself upon a stool close to the fire, and, resting her chin on her hand and her elbow on her knee, was looking reflective. “That Chandos is somebody new,” 'Toinette remarked. “I hope he has come to buy something. I want some gold sleeve-loops for Tod. I saw some beauties the other day, when I was out.” “But you could n't afford them if Phil sold two pictures instead of one,” said Aimée. “There are so many other useful things you need.” “He is n't a stranger to me,” put in Mollie, suddenly. “I have seen him before.” “Who?” said 'Toinette. She was thinking more of Tod's gold sleeve-loops than of anything else. “This Mr. Chandos,” answered Mollie, without looking up from the fire. “I saw him at Brabazon Lodge the night I went to take Dolly her dress. He was with Mr. Gowan, and I dropped my glove, and he picked it up for me. I was coming out as they were going in.” “I wonder,” said Aimée, “whether Mr. Gowan goes to Brabazon Lodge often?” “I don't know, I 'm sure,” answered Mollie, shrugging her shoulder. “How is one to learn? He would n't be likely to tell us. I should think, though, that he does. He is too fond of Dolly”--with a slight choke in her voice--“to stay away, if he can help it.” “It's queer,” commented 'Toinette, “how men like Dolly. She is n't a beauty, I 'm sure; and for the matter of that, when her hair is n't done up right, she is n't even pretty.” “It isn't queer, at all,” said Mollie, rather crossly; “it's her way. She can make such a deal out of nothing, and she does n't stand at trouble when she wants to _make_ people like her. _She_ says any one can do it, and it is only a question of patience; but I don't believe her. See how frantic Griffith is about her. He is more desperately in love with her to-day than he was at the very first, seven years ago.” “And she cares more for him, I'm sure,” said Aimée. Mollie's shoulder went up again. “She flirts with people enough, if she does,” she commented. “Ah!” returned Aimée, “that is 'her way,' as you call it, again. Somehow, it seems as if she can't help it. It is as natural to her as the color of her hair and eyes. She can't help doing odd things and making speeches that rouse people and tempt them into liking her. She has done such things all her life, and sometimes I think she will do them even when she is an old woman; though, of course, she will do them in a different way. Dolly would n't be Dolly without her whimsicalness, any more than Dick there, in his cage, would be a canary if he did n't twitter and sing.” “Does she ever do such things to women?” asked Miss Mollie, shrewdly. She seemed to be in a singular mood this afternoon.