MOLLY BAWN. 16
window during the summer mornings. Mr. Luttrell presents
much the same appearance. It certainly does occur to Molly
that of the two men the new-comer is decidedly the better-
looking of the two, whereat, without any treachei'y towards
John, she greatly rejoices. It does not occur to her that a
blush at this moment would be a blush in the right place.
On the contrary, she nods gaily at him and calls out:
' Hurry ! You cannot think what a delicious morning
it is.' And then goe.3 on with her snipping and paring with
the heartiest unconcern. After which Luttrell's method of
getting into the remainder of his clothes can only be described
as a scramble.
' How did you sleep ?' asks Molly, a few minutes later,
when he has joined her, looking up from the rosebush over
which she is bending, that holds no flower so sweet as her
own self ' Well, I hope ?'
' Very well, thank you,' with a smile, his eyes fixed
immovably upon the fresh beauty of her face.
' You look suspicious,' says she, with a little laugh.
* Are you thinking my question odd ? I know when people
are put over-night in a haunted chamber they are always
asked the next morning whether they " sle^it well," in the
fond hope that they didn't. But you need not be nervous.
Nothing so inspiriting------'
* Is that a joke ?' demands he, interrupting her, gravely.
' Eh ? Oh, no ; how could you think me guilty of such
a thing? I mean nothing so hopeful as an undeniable ghost
has ever yet appeared at Brooklyn.'
' Are you sure ? Perhaps, then, I am to be the happy
discoverer, as this morning early, about dawn, there came
an unearthly tapping at my window that woke me, much to
my disgust. I got up, but when I had opened the shutters
could see nothing. Was not that a visitation ? I looked at
my watch, and found it was past four o'clock. Then I crept
into my bed again crestfallen—" sold " with regard to an
' That was my magpie,' cries Molly, with a merry laugh;
'he always comes pecking at that hour, naughty fellow.
Oh, what a tame ending to your romance ! Your beautiful
ghost come to visit you from unknown regions, clad in white
and rustling garments, has resolved itself into a lame bird,
rather poverty-stricken in the matter of feathers,'