be shy," says Sir Penthony, raising a corner of
the antimacassar, so as to give his friends the full encouragement of
one whole eye. "'Fascinating,' I feel sure, will be the right word in
the right place here."

"It would indeed. I know nobody so really entertaining as Plantagenet,"
says Cecil, warmly.

"Your ladyship's judgment is always sound. I submit to it," returns Sir
Penthony, rising to make her a profound bow.

CHAPTER XXI.

"'Why come you drest like a village maid
That are the flower of the earth?'
'If I come drest like a village maid
I am but as my fortunes are.'"

--_Lady Clare._

It is close on October. Already the grass has assumed its sober garb of
brown; a general earthiness is everywhere. The leaves are falling,--not
now in careful couples or one by one, but in whole showers,--slowly,
sorrowfully, as though loath to quit the sighing branches, their last
faint rustling making their death-song.

Molly's visit has drawn to an end. Her joyous month is over. To-day a
letter from her brother reminding her of her promise to return is
within her hand, recalling all the tender sweets of home life, all the
calm pleasure she will gain, yet bringing with it a little sting, as
she remembers all the gay and laughing hours that she must lose. For
indeed her time at Herst has proved a good time.

"I have had a letter from my brother, grandpapa: he thinks it is time I
should return," she says, accosting the old man as he takes his
solitary walk up and down one of the shaded paths.

"Do you find it so dull here?" asks he, sharply, turning to read her
face.

"Dull? No, indeed. How should I? I shall always remember my visit to
you as one of the happy events of my life."

"Then remain a little longer," he growls, ungraciously. "The others
have consented to prolong their stay; why should not you? Write to
your--to Mr. Massereene to that effect. I cannot breathe in an empty
house. It is my wish, my desire that you shall stay," he finishes,
irritably, this being one of his painful days.

So it is settled. She will obey this crabbed veteran's behest and enjoy
a little more of the good the gods have provided for her before
returning to her quiet home.

"You will not desert us in our increased calamities, Molly, will you?"
asks Cecil, half an hour later, as Molly enters the common boudoir
where Lady Stafford and Marcia sit alone, the men being absent with
their guns, and Mrs. Dar