d," goes on his tormentor, the more angry that she cannot induce him
to revile her, "I do not wish you to call me 'Molly' any more. Only
those who--who love me call me by that name. Marcia and my grandfather
(two people I detest) call me Eleanor. You can follow their example for
the future."

"There will not be any future. I have been making up my mind, and--I
shall sell out and go abroad immediately."

"Indeed!" There was a slight, a very slight, tremble in her saucy
tones. "What a sudden determination! Well, I hope you will enjoy
yourself. It is charming weather for a pleasure-trip."

"It is."

"You shouldn't lose much more time, however. Winter will soon be here;
and it must be dismal in the extreme traveling in frost and snow."

"I assure you"--bitterly--"there is no occasion to hurry me. I am as
anxious to go as ever you could desire."

"May I ask when you are going, and where?"

"No, you may not," cries he, at length fiercely goaded past endurance;
"only, be assured of this: I am going as far from you as steam can take
me; I am going where your fatal beauty and heartlessness cannot touch
me; where I shall not be maddened day by day by your coquetry, and
where perhaps--in time--I may learn to forget you."

His indignation has made him appear at least two inches taller than his
ordinary six feet. His face is white as death, his lips are compressed
beneath his blonde moustache, his dark blue eyes--not unlike Molly's
own--are flashing fire.

"Thank you," says his companion, with exaggerated emphasis and a
graceful curtsey; "thank you very much, Mr. Luttrell. I had no idea,
when I lingered here for one little moment, I was going to hear so many
home truths. I certainly do not want to hear any more."

"Then why don't you go?" puts in Luttrell, savagely.

"I would--only--perhaps you may not be aware of it, but you have your
foot exactly on the very end of my gown."

Luttrell raises his foot and replaces it upon the shaking planks with
something that strongly resembles a stamp,--so strongly as to make the
treacherous bridge quake and tremble; while Molly moves slowly away
from him until she reaches the very edge of their uncertain
resting-place.

Here she pauses, glances backward, and takes another step, only to
pause again,--this time with decision.

"Teddy," she says, softly.

No answer.

"Dear Teddy," more softly still.

No answer.

"_Dearest_ Teddy."

Still no answer.

"Teddy--_darling_!" m