of it long ago, you mean? I only wish he was
_my_ grandfather, and I would never cease persecuting him,
morning, noon, and night. What is the use of a grandfather if it isn't
to tip one every now and then?"

"You forget the circumstances of my case."

"I do not indeed. Of course, beyond all doubt, he behaved badly;
still----I really think," says Cecil, in a highly moralizing tone,
"there is nothing on earth so mistaken as pride. I am free from it. I
don't know the meaning of it, and I know I am all the happier in
consequence."

"Perhaps I am more angry than proud."

"It is the same thing, and I wish you weren't. Oh, Molly! do ask him.
What can it signify what he thinks?"

"Nothing; but a great deal what John thinks. It would be casting a
slight upon him, as though he stinted me in clothes or money, and I
will not do it."

"It would be such a simple way," says Cecil, with a melancholy
sigh,--dear Molly is so obstinate and old-fashioned; then follows
another pause, longer and more decided than the last. Molly, with her
back turned to her friend, commences such a dismal tattoo upon the
window-pane as would be sufficient to depress any one without further
cause. Her friend is pondering deeply.

"Molly," she says, presently, with a fine amount of indifference in her
tone,--rather suspicious, to say the least of it,--"I feel sure you are
right,--quite right. I like you all the better for--your pride, or
whatever you may wish to call it. But what a pity it is your
grandfather would not offer you a dress or a check to buy it! I
suppose"--quietly---"if he did, you would take it?"

"What a chance there is of that!" says Molly, still gloomy. "Yes, if he
_offered_ it I do not think I could bring myself to refuse it. I
am not adamant. You see"--with a faint laugh--"my pride would not carry
me very far."

"Far enough. Let us go down to the others," says Cecil, rising and
yawning slightly. "They will think we are planning high treason if we
absent ourselves any longer."

Together they go down-stairs and into the drawing-room, which they find
empty.

As they reach the centre of it, Cecil stops abruptly, and, saying
carelessly, "I will be back in one moment," turns and leaves the room.

The apartment is deserted. No sound penetrates to it. Even the very
fire, in a fit of pique, has degenerated into a dull glow.

Molly, with a shiver, rouses it, throws on a fresh log, and amuses
herself trying to induce the tardy flames