e ground,
impatiently.

"She is rather pretty," says Lowry, glancing carelessly at the powdered
doll's face, with its wealth of dyed hair.

"There was a young lady named Maud,"

says Sir Penthony, addressing his toes,

"Who had recently come from abroad,
Her bloom and her curls,
Which astonished the girls,
Were both an ingenious fraud.

"Ah! here is Tedcastle coming across to us."

Tedcastle, with the boy Darley mounted high on his shoulder, comes
leisurely over the lawn and up the steps.

"There, my little man, now you may run to your mother," he says to the
child, who shows a morbid dislike to leave his side (all children adore
Luttrell). "What! not tired of me yet? Well, stay, then."

"Tea, Tedcastle?"

"No, thank you."

"Let me get you some more, Miss Massereene," says Plantagenet. "You
came late, and have been neglected."

"I think I will take a very little more. But," says Molly, who is in a
tender mood, "you have been going about on duty all the evening. I will
ask Mr. Luttrell to get me some this time, if he will be so kind." She
accompanies this with a glance that sets Luttrell's fond heart beating.

"Ah, Molly, why did you not come with Teddy and me this day, as usual?"
says little Lucien Darley, patting her hand. "It was so nice. Only
there was no regular sun this evening, like yesterday. It was hot, but
I could see no dear little dancing sunbeams; and I asked Teddy why, and
he said there could be no sun where Molly was not. What did he mean by
that?"

"Yes, what _could_ he have meant by that?" asks Sir Penthony, in a
perplexed tone, while Molly blushes one of her rare, sweet blushes, and
lowers her eyes. "It was a wild remark. I can see no sense in it. But
perhaps he will kindly explain. I say, Luttrell, you shouldn't spend
your time telling this child fairy tales; you will make him a
visionary. He says you declared Miss Massereene had entire control over
the sun, moon, and stars, and that they were never known to shine
except where she was."

"I have heard of the '_enfant terrible_,'" says Luttrell,
laughing, to cover some confusion; "I rejoice to say I have at last met
with one. Lucien, I shall tell you no more fantastic stories."

CHAPTER XVIII.

"These violet delights have violet ends,
And in their triumph die, like fire and powder."

--_Romeo and Juliet._

"That is the way with you men; you don't understand us,--you
_cannot_."