"Angry? Why should I be angry?"

"Well, then, why don't you say you are glad?"

"Because I am not glad."

"And why? For months and months we were almost crying for money, and
when, by some most fortunate and unlooked-for chance, it fell to my
lot, you behaved as though some overpowering calamity had befallen you.
Why should not you be as glad of it as I am?"

"Don't speak like that, Molly," says Luttrell, with a groan. "You know
all is over between us. The last time we met in London you yourself
broke our engagement, and now do you think I shall suffer you to renew
it? I am not so selfish as you imagine. I am no match for you now. You
must forget me (it will not be difficult, I dare say), and it would be
a downright shame to keep you to--to----"

"Then you condemn me to die an old maid, the one thing I most detest;
while you, if you refuse to have me, Teddy, I shall insist on your
dying an old bachelor, if only to keep me in countenance."

"Think of what the world would say."

"Who cares what it says? And, besides, it knows we were engaged once."

"And also that we quarreled and parted."

"And that we were once more united in London, where you did not despise
the poor concert-singer. Were you not devoted to me then, when I had
but few friends? Were you ashamed of me then?"

"Ashamed of you!"

"Once you threw me over," says Molly, with a smile that suits the
month, being half tears, half sunshine. "Once I did the same by you.
That makes us quits. Now we can begin all over again."

"Think of what all your friends will say," says he, desperately,
knowing he is losing ground, but still persisting.

"Indeed I will, because all my friends are yours, and they will think
as I do."

Two little tears steal from under her heavily-fringed lids, and run
down her cheeks. Going nearer to him, she hesitates, glances at him
shyly, hesitates still, and finally lays her head upon his shoulder.

Of course, when the girl you love lays her head upon your shoulder,
there is only one thing to be done. Luttrell does that one thing. He
instantly encircles her with his arms.

"See, I am asking you to marry me," says Molly, raising dewy eyes to
his, and blushing one of her rare, sweet blushes. "I _beg_ you to
take me. If, after that, you refuse me, I shall die of shame. Why don't
you speak, Teddy? Say, 'Molly, I will marry you.'"

"Oh, Molly!" returns the young man, gazing down on her despairingly,
while his strong arms hold h