Molly did not resent the imputation of brusquerie. She had heard it so often before that it was nothing new, and besides she was quivering all over with a tempest of excitement and regret, evoked by his words of a moment ago. To go abroad, to cross that big, blue sparkling ocean had been the passionate desire of her life; oh, what would she not give to realize that dream! She had never envied the Barrys before; indeed, she had openly cherished an amused contempt for their family pride, and had never sighed for their broad acres or the blue blood that flowed in their veins. In this moment of sore temptation, however, all was reversed. “I wish--I wish--I were really Louise Barry instead of a contemptible little fraud!” she sighed. “But then how much better is _she_? It is all a muddle, and I can’t go, that’s all. And I hope and pray that Lou has fixed up some plan for me to come home, for everything is getting tangled up dreadfully!” Poor child, she thought so truly, for at every step she was floundering deeper into “the tangled web of fate.” They rode in presently across the lawn at Ferndale, and Mrs. Barry, from her seat in the wide hall, gave a smirk of satisfaction at sight of Cecil Laurens. Molly sprang down from her horse without waiting for assistance, flew up the steps, across the porch and hall, and upstairs like a little tornado, wild to possess herself of the contents of that fateful letter. Cecil Laurens, half-vexed at her unceremonious exit from the scene, dismounted more leisurely, and, handing his reins to a negro lad, went in to pay his respects to his old friend, Mrs. Barry. “Now, this is kind of you, Cecil; but where did you pick up Louise?” beaming. He explained, taking special care not to expose old Abe’s little artifice, by which he had gained a morning’s gossip with his darky friends. “You must spend the day with us,” said the old lady. “Louise will be down in a minute. She has only run upstairs to change her dress.” “And to read her letter,” he added. “Her letter?” “She had a letter from home,” he explained, and Mrs. Barry’s brow gloomed over. “A letter from that odious relative, the daughter of the actress! Oh, how I wish I could break her off from those pernicious influences!” she sighed. “Let me suggest a way,” cried Cecil Laurens, with sparkling eyes. “So soon?” she thought, triumphantly; but her ardor was a little dampened when he continued: “You know I return to Europe in a few weeks. Let me take your niece with me and place her at school with my sisters.” She uttered a little gasp of dismay, and presently cried out: “At school--Louise at school! What nonsense, Cecil! Why, she finished lessons long ago. She is plenty old enough to be married.” And a minute’s silence ensued. There was a lurking smile on Cecil’s faultless face, and he thought within himself: “She may be old enough, but she is certainly not wise enough. I would as soon think of marrying a baby.”