l6 MOLLY BAWN.
' I take it rather hardly that your dependent should
come to disturb me,' says Luttrell repi'oachfuUy. 'What
have I done to him, or how have I ingratiated myself, that
he should forsake you for me ? I did not think even a
meagre bird could have shown such outre taste. What
fancy has he for my window ?'
' Your window ?' says Molly quickly; then, as quickly
recollecting, she stops short, blushing a warm and lovely
crimson. ' Oh, of course—yes, it was odd,' she says; and,
breaking down under the weight of her unhappy blush,
busies herself eagerly with her flowers.
' Have I taken your bedroom ?' asks he anxiously,
watching with cruel persistency the soft roses that bloom
again at his words. ' Yes, I see I have. That is too bad ;
aud any room would have been good enough for a soldier.
Are you sure you don't hate me for all the inconvenience I
have caused you ?'
' I can't be sure,' says iilolly, ' yet. Give me time. But
this I do know, that John will quarrel with us if we remain
out here any longer, as breakfast must be quite ready by
' Y\''heu you spoke of my chamber as being haunted, a
little time ago,' says Luttrell, walking beside her on the
gravel path, his hands clasped behind his back, 'you came
very near the truth. After what you have just told me how
shall I keep from dreaming about you ?'
' Don't keep from it,' says she sweetly ; ' go on dreaming
about me as much as ever j'ou like. / don't mind.'
' But I might,' says Luttrell, ' when it was too late.'
'True,' murmurs Molly innocently, 'so you might.
John savs all dreams arise from indigestion !'
As through the land at eve we went.—Tenxyson.
Seven long blissful summer days have surrendered them¬
selves to the greedy past. It is almost July. To-day is
Wednesday—to-morrow June will be no more.
' Molly,' says Mr. Massereene, with the laudable intcn-