honest at all
times," she said, "at whatever cost. Lord Wyverton, Phyllis isn't in
love with you at all. She cares for Jim Freeman, the doctor's
assistant--an awfully nice boy; and he cares for her. But, you see, you
are rich, and we are so frightfully poor; and mother is often ill,
chiefly because there isn't enough to provide her with what she needs.
And so Phyllis felt it would be almost wicked to refuse your offer.
Perhaps you won't understand, but I hope you will try. If it weren't for
Jim, I would never have told you. As it is--I have been wondering--"

She broke off abruptly and suddenly covered her face with her two hands
in a stillness so tense that the man beside her marvelled.

He moved close to her. He was rather pale, but by no means discomposed.

"Yes?" he said. "Go on, please. I want you to finish."

There was authority in his voice, but Molly sat in unbroken silence.

He waited for several moments, then laid a perfectly steady hand on her
knee.

"You have been wondering--" he said.

She did not raise her head. As if under compulsion, she answered him with
her face still hidden.

"I have dared to wonder if--perhaps--you would take me--instead. I--am
not in love with anybody else, and I never would be. If you are in love
with Phyllis, I won't go on. But if it is just beauty you care for, I am
no worse-looking than she is. And I should do my best to please you."

The low voice sank. Molly's habitual self-possession had wholly deserted
her at this critical moment. She was painfully conscious of the quiet
hand on her knee. It seemed to press upon her with a weight that was
almost intolerable.

The silence that followed was terrible to her. She wondered afterwards
how she sat through it.

Then at last he moved and took her by the wrists. "Will you look at me?"
he said.

His voice sent a quiver through her. She had never felt so desperately
scared and ashamed in all her healthy young life. Yet she yielded to the
insistence of his touch and tone, and met the searching scrutiny of his
eyes with all her courage. He was not angry, she saw; nor was he
contemptuous. More than that she could not read. She lowered her eyes
and waited. Her pulses throbbed wildly, but still she kept herself from
trembling.

"Is this a definite offer?" he asked at last.

"Yes," she answered. Her voice was very low, but it was steady.

He waited a second, and she felt the mastery of the eyes she could not
meet.

"Forg