14 MOLLY BAWN.
in the deepest recesses of his large heart. But all such
appeals had been unavailing. So that Molly had grown
ftom baby to child, from child to girl, witl.out having so
much as seen her nearest relations, although Herst Royal
was situated in the very county next to hers.
Even now, in spite of her having attained her eighteenth
year, this ostracism is a matter of the most perfect indifference
to Molly. She has been bred in a very sound contempt for
the hard old man who so cruelly neglected her mother; the
poor mother whose love she never missed, so faithfully has
John fulfilled her dying wishes. There is no poverty about
this love, in which she has grown and strengthened; it is
rich, all-sufficing. Even Letitia's coming only added another
ray to its brightness.
They are an harmonious family, the Massereenes ; they
blend; they seldom disagree. Letitia, with her handsome
English face, her tall, posee figure, and ready smile, makes a
delicious centrepiece; John a good background; Molly a
bit of peifect sunlight; the children flecks of vivid colouring
here and there. They are an easy, laughter-loving people,
with a rare store of conteniment. They are much affected
by those in their immediate neighbourhood. Their servants
have a good time of it. They are never out of temper when
dinner is a quai'ter of an hour late. They all very much
admire Molly, and Molly very much agrees with them.
They are fond of taking their tea in summer in the open
air; they are not fond of over-early rising; they never bore
you with a description of the first faint beams of dawn;
they fail to see any beauty iu the dew at five o'clock in the
morning—-they are a very reasonable people.
Yet, the morning after his arrival, Luttrell, jumping out
cf his bed at eight o'clock, finds, on looking out of his window
that overhangs the garden, Flora already amongst her
flowers. Drawing back hastily—he is a modest young man—
he grows suddenly eneigetic and makes good speed with his
When he is half-dressed—that is, when his hair is
brushed; but as yet his shirt is guiltless of a waistcoat—he
cannot refrain from looking forth again, to see if she may
yet be there, and, looking, meets her eyes.
He is slightly abashed—she is not. Mr. Massereene in
his shirt and trousers is a thing very frequently seen at his