292 MOLLY BAWN.
' Ah ! then don't blame me. I could have kiUed myself
when I cried,' says Molly, referring again to the past, with
a little angry shiver, ' but I felt so sorry for my poor, pretty,
innocent ring. And he looked so handsome, so determined,
when he flung it in the flre, with his eyes quite dark, and
his figure drawn up; and—and—I could not help wonder¬
ing,' says Molly, with a Uttle tremble in her tone, 'who
next would love him—and who—he—would love.
' I never thought you were so fond of him, dearest,'
says Cecil, laying her hand softly on her friend's,
' Nor I—until I lost him,' murmurs poor Molly, with a
rain attempt at composure. Two tears fall heavUy into her
lap— a sob escapes her,
' Now you are going to cry again,' interposes Cecil, with
hasty but kindly warning. ' Don't. He is not going to fall
in love with anyone so long as you are single, take my word
for it. Nonsense, my dear, cheer yourself with the certainty
that he is at this very moment eating his heart out, because
ho knows better than I do that though there may be many
women there is only one Molly Bawn in the world.'
This reflection, although consolatory, has not the desired
effect. Instead of drying her eyes and declaring herself glad
that Luttrell is unhappy, Molly grows more and more
affiicted eveiy moment.
'IMy dear girl,' exclaims Lady Stafford, as a last re¬
source, ' do pray think of your complexon. I have finished
(lying—I shall give way to crying no more, because I wish
to look my best to-morrow, to let him see what a charming
])crson he has chosen to quarrel with. And my tears are
not .so destructive as yours, because mine arise from vexa¬
tion—yours from feeling.'
' I hardly know,' says Molly, with an attempt at
nchchala.ic- she is far from feeling, 'I really think I cried
more for my diamond th.au for—my lover. However, I
ehall take }'our advice : I shall think no more about it. To¬
morrow '—rising and running to the glass, and pushing
back hei- disordered hair from her face, that is lovely in spite
of marring tears—'to-morrow I shall be gayer, bricrhter
than he has ever yet seen me. What! shall I let him
think I fret because of him ? He saw me once in tears • he
shall not see me so again.'
' What a pity ifc is grief should be so unbecoming!'