Mrs. Barry rose with as much haste as her age and infirmities would
permit, and excusing herself to Cecil Laurens, went upstairs after her
obdurate niece.
The young man, left alone, said to himself:
“Mrs. Everett has proved herself a wise woman and refused to let her
niece leave Ferndale. I applaud her good sense.”
And he did not alter his opinion even when Molly came down presently
with red-rimmed eyes and a doleful expression that proved how deeply
she had taken her disappointment to heart.
Mrs. Barry did not come down with her, and she went out on the wide
porch and sat down sulkily in a big rustic chair.
Cecil Laurens followed her, and leaning his arms on the top of her
chair, looked down into the pretty clouded face.
“What did Aunt Lucy say?” he asked.
Molly snapped out a vicious little “No!”
“A wise woman,” said Cecil Laurens.
Molly looked up at him with an angry gleam in the dark eyes.
“Do you think so?” she asked in an odd tone, adding sharply: “Time will
tell.”
Then the bright eyes turned from him and wandered toward the grove of
trees that inclosed the house. He saw her breast rise and fall quickly,
and her little hands clinched themselves in silent anger. Plainly,
Molly was in a passion.
“Miss Barry, you puzzle me!” said Cecil Laurens. “Why are you so
anxious to return to Staunton? Have you a lover there?”
Molly glanced up, and a saucy smile broke through the gloom of her face.
“Pray, is that any of your business, sir?” she demanded, pertly, and
was amazed when he answered, promptly:
“Yes.”
“But how?” curiously.
“Forewarned is forearmed. I did not want to fall in love with you
myself if there were any prior claim on you,” he replied, coolly and
teasingly.
“I am not the least afraid you will commit such a folly,” she replied,
carelessly. “If it were my step-sister, now--but it could never be
_me_!”
“Your step-sister!” with a frown. “That would be impossible, you know.
But tell me why you think so.”
“Oh, she is dignified like the Barrys, and has such an odd, charming
style of beauty--yellow hair and yellow eyes.”
“Like a tigress,” said Cecil Laurens, and Molly started.
“I never thought of it before, but she is like _that_,” she exclaimed.
“She can be so sweet and purring, yet all the time you seem to feel
that she has cruel claws hidden under her furred paws. She can be so
hard, too--oh, you should see the letter she wrote me!”
“And you think I could fall in love with such a tiger-cat as you
describe. Thank you,” he said, with frank pique.
“But perhaps you would not _feel_ that the claws were there as I _do_,”
her large eyes dilating with earnestness. “You would see only that odd
beauty and that grand air.”
“Copied from the theater,” he said, and Molly flushed hotly.
“Well, copied from the stage if you will,” she replied, curtly. “But
all the same you would admire her, I am sure.”
“I should not,” he replied with decision, and Molly half laughed, then
relapsed into seriousness and wrath again.
“Oh, how mean she was in that letter today! What a dig she gave me with
her vicious claws! She ought to have known me better--ought to have
been afraid--” she paused and bit her lips.
“What do you mean?” he asked, curiously, and a light of anger and
resentment flashed all over the girlish face.
“Never mind,” she said. “Never mind, but I mean to _pay her back_, that
is all, and--no one can blame me now!”
He was gratified at seeing her mind set against that odious step-sister.
“Miss Barry, I am glad you have had your eyes opened to the
worthlessness of that girl,” he said, earnestly. “Her mother was
an adventuress who inveigled your father into a low marriage that
alienated from him all his friends and relatives. It is most fortunate
for you that Mrs. Barry relented after his death and decided to make
you her heiress.”
“Oh, yes, very fortunate,” said Molly, but it distressed him to notice
that her tone was distinctly sarcastic, and that she clinched her
little fists again as if in a secret fury.
“I suppose,” he went on, excitedly, “that the girl is envious of your
good fortune, hence her disagreeable letter to you.”
“Of course,” agreed Molly.
“Do not let her rancor trouble you. She is beneath the notice of a
Barry. Her spleen is not worth paying back,” Cecil said.
“Oh, yes, it is, and I propose to pay her interest on the debt,” she
replied, angrily, and for the present he saw that it would be useless
to oppose her will. He decided to humor her whim.
“By all means pay her back then, and perhaps I can help you with the
interest,” he said, lightly.
“Thank you; I was counting on your assistance,” she replied, with a
strange smile, and in a tone of decided earnest.
The dark eyes met his with a look of triumph he could not understand.
“What can I do to help you to your vengeance?” he asked, but she shook
her head and made no reply.