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The note which the major handed over was curt to the verge of rudeness. It merely stated that the writer had gone to London for a couple of days on business, and would be back as soon as possible. No explanation of what the business might be was given. Maurice did not wonder than Jen was annoyed at receiving such a missive from one whom he regarded in the light of a son; but in handing it back to the major he excused the writer. "Molly," he said, when enough tenderness had come back into his arms to let me breathe, "you have almost killed me!" "Oh, did he though?" cried Patricia, kindling. "How clever of him to see. I thought no one dreamed!".

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"I know it. David Sarby!" "I'd put John Moore at the head of the table if I were you, Molly Carter, because he's about the only man you've invited that has got any sense left since you and that Clinton girl took to going about Hillsboro. He's a host of steadiness in himself, and the way he ignores all you women, who would run after him if he would let you, shows what he is. He has my full confidence," and as she delivered herself of this judgment of Dr. John, Mrs. Johnson drove in all the corks tight and began to pound spice. "I am sure of that," remarked Jen, taking the devil-stick off the table. "And you stole this, I'll be bound." "Yes. I--I--I do love Miss Dallas.".