The idea was a fascinating one. It held her fancy strongly. She began to
wonder if he cared very deeply for her sister, or if mere looks had
attracted him.
She had good looks too, she reflected. And she was quick to learn,
adaptable. The thought rushed through her mind like a meteor through
space. He might be willing. He might be kind. He had a look about his
eyes--a quizzical look--that certainly suggested possibilities. But dare
she put it to the test? Dare she actually interfere in the matter?
For the first time in all her vigorous young life Molly found her courage
at so low an ebb that she was by no means sure that she could rely upon
it to carry her through.
She spent the rest of that day in trying to screw herself up to what she
privately termed "the necessary pitch of impudence."
* * * * *
At nine o'clock on the following morning Lord Wyverton, sitting at
breakfast alone in the little coffee-room of the Red Lion, heard a voice
he recognized speak his name in the passage outside.
"Lord Wyverton," it said, "is he down?"
Lord Wyverton rose and went to the door. He met the landlady just
entering with a basket of eggs in her hand. She dropped him a curtsy.
"It's Miss Molly from the Vicarage, my lord," she said.
Molly herself stood in the background. Behind the landlady's broad back
she also executed a village bob.
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