"I suppose there are such people to be found in every class," he said.
Molly's eyes returned from the hay-field and met his look steadily. "I
like you best when you don't frown," she said. "I am not trying to insult
you."
His brows relaxed, but he did not smile. "I am sure of that," he said,
courteously. "Please continue."
Molly leaned slightly forward. "I think one should be honest at all
times," she said, "at whatever cost. Lord Wyverton, Phyllis isn't in
love with you at all. She cares for Jim Freeman, the doctor's
assistant--an awfully nice boy; and he cares for her. But, you see, you
are rich, and we are so frightfully poor; and mother is often ill,
chiefly because there isn't enough to provide her with what she needs.
And so Phyllis felt it would be almost wicked to refuse your offer.
Perhaps you won't understand, but I hope you will try. If it weren't for
Jim, I would never have told you. As it is--I have been wondering--"
She broke off abruptly and suddenly covered her face with her two hands
in a stillness so tense that the man beside her marvelled.
He moved close to her. He was rather pale, but by no means discomposed.
"Yes?" he said. "Go on, please. I want you to finish."
There was authority in his voice, but Molly sat in unbroken silence.
He waited for several moments, then laid a perfectly steady hand on her
knee.
"You have been wondering--" he said.
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