ws on the writing-table, and has let her rounded
chin sink into her palms' embrace; while her eyes fix themselves
steadily upon the pen, the paper, anything but Letitia.

"Signor Marigny! Your old singing-master? No. Why do you ask, dear?"

"Because I want to write to him."

"Do you? And what----? No, I have not got his address; I don't believe
I ever had it. How shall you manage?"

"I dare say I have it somewhere myself; don't trouble," says Molly,
knowing guiltily it lies just beneath her hand within the table-drawer.
She is glad of a respite, Letitia having forborne to press the
question.

Not for long, however; human nature can stand a good many things, but
curiosity conquers most.

"Why are you writing to Signor Marigny?" Letitia asks, in a gentle tone
of indifference, after a full five minutes' pause, during which she has
been devoured with a desire to know.

"Because I believe he will help me," says Molly, slowly. "I have been
thinking, Letty,--thinking very seriously,--and I have decided upon
making my fortune--_our_ fortune--out of my voice."

"Molly!"

"Well, dear, and why not? Do not dishearten me, Letty; you know we must
live, and what other plan can you suggest?"

"In London I thought perhaps we might get something to
do,"--mournfully,--"and there no one would hear of us. I have rather a
fancy for millinery, and one of those large establishments might take
me, while you could go as a daily governess," regarding her sister
doubtfully.

"Governess! oh, no! The insipidity, the drudgery of it, would kill me.
I should lose sight of the fact that I was my own mistress in such
genteel slavery. Besides, as a concert singer (and I _can_ sing),
I should earn as much in one night, probably, as I should otherwise in
a year."

"Oh, Molly!"--clasping her hands--"I cannot bear to think of it. It is
horrible; the publicity,--the dreadful ordeal. And you of all
others,--my pretty Molly----"

"It is well I am pretty," says Molly, with a supreme effort at
calmness; "they say a pretty woman with a voice takes better."

"Every word you say only convinces me more and more how cruel a task it
would be. And Molly, darling, I know he would not wish it."

"I think he would wish me to do my duty," says Molly, gazing with great
tearless eyes through the window into space, while her slender fingers
meet and twine together nervously. "Letitia, why cannot you be
thankful, as I am, that I have a voice,--a sure and cert