without bidding Mrs. Massereene good-bye, he would
seize the opportunity--she being _now alone_ (heavily dashed)--to
run down to Brooklyn to see her this very day.

"Oh, Letty! to-day!" exclaims Molly, paling and flushing, and paling
again. "How I wish it was tomorrow!"

"Could there be any one more inconsistent than you, my dear Molly? You
have been praying for three whole weeks to see him, and now your prayer
is answered you look absolutely miserable."

"It is so sudden," says poor Molly. "And--he never mentioned my name.
What if he refuses to have anything to say to me even now? What shall I
do then?"

"Nonsense, my dear! When once he sees you, he will forget all his
ridiculous pride, and throw himself, like a sensible man, at your
feet."

"I wish I could think so. Letty,"--tearfully, and in a distinctly
wheedling tone,--"wouldn't _you_ speak to him?"

"Indeed I would not," says Letitia, indignantly. "What, after writing
that lie! No, you must of course see him yourself. And, indeed, my dear
child,"--laughing,--"you have only to meet him, wearing the lugubrious
expression you at present exhibit, to melt his heart, were it the
stoniest one in Europe. See,"--drawing her to a mirror,--"was there
ever such a Dolores?"

Seeing her own forlorn visage, Molly instantly laughs, thereby ruining
forever the dismal look of it that might have stood her in such good
stead.

"I suppose he will dine," says Letitia, thoughtfully. "I must go speak
to cook."

"Perhaps he will take the very first train back to London," says Molly,
still gloomy.

"Perhaps so. Still, we must be prepared for the worst," wickedly.
"Therefore, cook and I must consult. Molly,"--pausing at the door,--"you
have exactly four hours in which to make yourself beautiful, as he
cannot possibly be here before two. And if in that time you cannot
create a costume calculated to reduce him to slavery, I shall lose my
good opinion of you. By the bye, Molly,"--earnestly, and with something
akin to anxiety,--"do you think he likes meringues?"

"How can you be so foolish?" says Miss Massereene, reprovingly. "Of
course if he dines he will be in the humor to like anything I like, and
I _love_ meringues. But if not,--if not,"--with a heavy sigh,--"you
can eat all the meringues yourself."

"Dear, dear!" says Letitia. "She is really very bad."

Almost as the clock strikes two, Molly enters the orchard, having given
strict orders to Sarah to send Mr. Luttrell the