THE TEMPLES APPEAR.
It was after eight o'clock when Mollie finally awoke again, and feeling,
somewhat to her surprise, not one whit the worse for her exciting
adventure during the small hours of the morning.
After making her toilet she sought Nannette, who was dressing Lucille,
and they both agreed not to speak of what had occurred before the
servant--at any rate, until after Monsieur Lamonti's return.
Lucille was better, and, after they had had their breakfast, Mollie
thought, as the day was very fine, it would do her good to go for a
drive.
The carriage was accordingly ordered, and the three--for Lucille never
went anywhere without her maid, except on rare occasions with her
grandfather--were soon rolling down Pennsylvania Avenue, thence to
Mollie's home to ascertain how Mr. Heatherford had passed the night,
after which the coachman was told to drive out toward Arlington Heights.
They rested a while in the venerable mansion, and then started on their
homeward way. They were just passing the boundary of what was once known
as the "old Lee estate," when they met another carriage entering the
beautiful grounds.
This vehicle contained four persons, and they were none other than Mr.
and Mrs. William Temple, with their daughter Minnie, and Philip
Wentworth. This quartet manifested no little astonishment upon beholding
Mollie, sitting like a fair young princess in her fine equipage, and she
experienced a little secret amusement as she encountered their wondering
gaze.
Mr. and Mrs. Temple bowed politely, but with marked formality. Minnie
waved her hand, with a smile of pleasure, at her old friend, of whom she
had been very fond, while Philip removed his hat with elaborate
courtesy, his eyes beaming with admiration as he looked into Mollie's
fair face and realized that she was even lovelier than when he had seen
her last in Boston, a year and a half previous, and instantly all his
old-time passion for her revived.
Mollie returned these greetings courteously and with the utmost
self-possession; but her eyes were very bright and the color in her
cheeks gleamed like scarlet poppies for a moment.
Then the carriages passed and were parted without a word having been
spoken, although Minnie had been upon the point of bursting out in her
childish eagerness with some expression of greeting; but her mother
hushed her with a single low-spoken word.
Mollie's heart burned within her with mingled scorn and indignation, in
view of this coldness, for she well remembered the days when the whole
family had been most gracious in their manner toward her--had even
fawned upon her and spared no effort to cultivate her society.
She was stung anew, too, with the memory of the unpardonable outrage
perpetrated against her father during their last visit with the Temples;
while, even though she had long known that she had never loved and could
never love and would never marry him under any circumstances, Philip's
peculiar attitude toward her filled her with a secret contempt for him.
"Why! how strange that we should have met Mollie Heatherford, and what
an elegant turnout that is in which she is riding!" Mrs. Temple observed
to her husband after the encounter, while she turned and peered out of
the rear window of their own carriage for another glimpse of Monsieur
Lamonti's fine victoria with its liveried coachman and footman.
"It certainly is," Mr. Temple replied. "Those were magnificent horses,
and everything about the affair indicated lavish expenditure. I don't
quite understand the condition of things," he concluded reflectively.
"Mollie was richly dressed, too, and looked, as she always had a way of
looking, like a queen--she has grown handsomer than ever," his wife
pursued. "Did you notice the child and its nurse who were with her?" she
went on, as if some startling thought had occurred to her. "Do you
suppose the girl has married some rich widower and is queening it here
in Washington society?"
Philip gave a violent start as his mother propounded this solution to
the problem that was puzzling them all, and jealously regretting--as
fickle human nature is prone to do when another shows appreciation of a
discarded favorite--what he fondly imagined might have been his if he
had chosen to press his suit.
"I have heard nothing of it if she has," said Mr. Temple, and looking
not altogether comfortable in view of finding the Heatherfords again on
an equal footing with himself. "The last I knew, Mr. Heatherford had
secured a position here with a fair salary, and they were living
comfortably, but in a very humble way compared with their former
circumstances. I will make some inquires to-morrow and ascertain, if
possible, just how they are situated."
Philip did not join in the conversation, but he secretly resolved that
he would himself ascertain the truth about Mollie that very day. He
would seek her in the location to which he had always addressed his
letters, as long as he had written her, and if he failed to find her
there he would search the city over for her.
Neither Mr. Temple nor his mother had known of his correspondence with
her, and the latter had flattered herself that she had been very tactful
in managing to break up certain "foolish" relations between the two that
were liable to prove very awkward.
The family had been in Washington only a few days, and, although Philip
had thought of Mollie in an indifferent kind of way, he had not felt any
special interest to look her up. Now, however, the sight of her radiant
beauty, together with her cool and dignified bearing and the fear that
possibly she had dared to marry another, while he assumed to have a
claim--however indefinite--upon her, fired anew his old-time love for
her and aroused a fierce jealousy within him.
Accordingly, after he had lunched, he immediately set forth upon his
quest for her, going directly to the address where his letters had been
sent.
Eliza, of course, answered his ring, but informed him that her young
mistress was not at home--that, however, she would probably return that
evening. He then inquired for Mr. Heatherford, and was told, with a
non-committal air, that he was "comfortable."
"Has he been ill?" questioned Philip, with some surprise.
"Yes, sah; Marsa Heatherford have been very ill." Eliza quietly
returned, but without volunteering any information regarding the nature
of that gentleman's malady, while she eyed Philip curiously, not
half-liking his looks nor his arrogant bearing.
The young man, however, went away, smoothing his ruffled plumage with no
little satisfaction. Mollie was not married; probably, he assumed, she
was simply a day governess in some wealthy family, and that would
account for her being out for a drive with the child and its nurse in
the elegant carriage he had seen that morning.
He returned to his hotel quite elated and promising himself that he
would resume his old relations--to a certain extent--with Mollie, and
thus help to pass some otherwise dull hours during his sojourn in the
city.
In spite of the secrecy which Mollie had desired to preserve regarding
her exciting adventure of the previous night, the evening papers
contained a thrilling account of a bold attempt at robbery, and how it
had been thwarted by the remarkable heroism of a young lady, who had
held the would-be burglar paralyzed at the muzzle of a revolver until
the police were summoned to her aid and captured the criminal.
The name of the gentleman whose residence had been entered was given;
but Mollie's name was considerately withheld. She was simply designated
as Monsieur Lamonti's private secretary, who had been spending a couple
of days in the house as chaperon for the gentleman's little
granddaughter during his absence on a business trip to New York.
Monsieur Lamonti returned, as he had planned, that same evening, and was
greatly exercised in view of what had occurred.
"Mademoiselle has shown herself very brave," he said, after having
freely discussed the matter and regarding her admiringly, "but I tremble
when I think of the danger that threatened her. And there was much of
value in the safe, too--a large sum of money, besides many valuable
jewels. Ah! but you have been my good angel many times, mademoiselle,"
he concluded in a grateful tone.
He opened the safe and showed her the jewels, and, though she had seen
many costly articles of jewelry, she was almost dazzled by the beauty
and value of the collection before her.
"We will not keep them here any longer," said Monsieur Lamonti, as he
returned them to their places. "I could not bear to send them away
because my dear ones had worn them," he added with a regretful sigh,
"but no one must ever be subjected again to such peril as threatened you
last night."
And the following morning he deposited his treasure in a safety-vault,
where no burglar would attempt to seek them.
Shortly after Monsieur Lamonti's arrival Mollie was sent home in his
carriage, that gentleman slipping into her hands a box containing a
dozen pairs of elegant kid gloves, as she left.
"It is nothing," he said with a deprecatory shrug in reply to her
thanks; "it was only to give myself the pleasure of buying something for
some one."
Eliza welcomed her young mistress with a beaming face when she appeared,
and she found that her father had received excellent care during her
absence; but she had not been in the house half an hour, when Philip
Wentworth again made his appearance.
Mollie received him courteously, though somewhat coldly; but he ignored
her lack of cordiality, and, catching both her hands in his, fervently
exclaimed:
"At last! Mollie, we meet again! It has seemed an age since I saw you in
Boston. Did your servant tell you of my call directly after lunch?"
"Yes; Eliza gave me your card on my return. I have been away spending a
couple of days with some friends," Mollie quietly explained, as she
released her hands and indicated a chair for him, then seated herself
upon a small sofa near him.
"Perhaps you will think me very persistent and impatient to make two
calls in one day," Philip observed apologetically, and feeling a trifle
disconcerted by the girl's perfect composure; "but I have been wild to
learn why you ceased writing to me so suddenly--I have not heard from
you for the longest while!"
Mollie lifted a look of surprise to him.
"I think you have transposed the situation," she said, a faint smile
curving her lips. "I have answered every letter that I have received
from you."
"Ah! then I have wronged you; forgive me! And my last letter must have
miscarried, for when I did not hear from you I began to wonder if it
could have contained anything to offend you," Philip returned, but he
flushed beneath the clear, searching eyes looking steadily into his, as
he uttered the lie. Then unceremoniously waiving the uncomfortable
topic, he added with animation:
"But tell me something about yourself now, Mollie. I do not need to ask
if you are well; for your blooming appearance speaks for itself; but how
is your father, and what have you been doing to amuse yourself during
all these long months?"
Again that faint smile wreathed Mollie's lips, and there was a suspicion
of irony in it, for his question was suggestive of the tenor of his own
way of passing his time.
"'To amuse myself'," she repeated in a peculiar tone. "I really have had
very little time to devote to amusement of any kind during the last year
and a half. For the first few months I was busy keeping house for papa,
for we were trying to be economical and kept no servant. Then he was
taken ill."
"Yes, I remember you wrote me at one time that he was ill," Philip
interposed, "but I supposed that he had recovered long ago."
"My father is a hopeless invalid--the physicians tell me that he will
never be any better," said Mollie sadly.
"Can that be possible?" queried her companion, and trying to throw a
proper amount of sympathy into his tone, but secretly wondering how they
managed to keep the wolf from the door.
"Of course, when his health gave out he lost his situation, and his
income stopped," Mollie gravely resumed, "and I was obliged to seek some
employment. I have a position as private secretary to Monsieur Lamonti,
a French gentleman of some prominence here in Washington--possibly you
may have heard of him."
"Ah! yes, I have," said Philip with elevated eyebrows, for the wealthy
Frenchman had been pointed out to him, and now he understood how Mollie
had happened to be riding in that elegant turnout that morning. Then he
added: "I am sorry to learn that Mr. Heatherford's case is so serious."
"Yes; papa has failed sadly; he seldom recognizes even me, now, while
his hands have become so useless that he has to be fed like a child,"
Mollie returned with starting tears.
"That must make it very hard for you, dear," Philip responded with a
tender inflection; "you must find it very irksome, reared as you have
been, to confine yourself to a position and the care of an invalid."
"I do not," she returned brightly, though she straightened herself a
trifle and flushed at his term of endearment. "I thoroughly enjoy my
position, and if papa could only be well once more, I should feel
perfectly happy with my work and the consciousness that I am really of
some practical use in the world."
She looked so proud and animated and bore herself with such an air of
dignity and self-reliance that the young man told himself she was a
hundredfold more lovely and attractive than she had ever been.
But, at the same time, there was an unmistakable atmosphere about her
that held him at arm's length and made him feel as if she had drifted so
far apart from him as to have put him entirely out of her life.
The very thought enraged him, and an insatiate desire to conquer these
conditions and make himself necessary to her happiness took possession
of him. He flushed hotly as he suddenly bent nearer to her.
"Mollie, I cannot bear to know that you are working for wages," he said
passionately.
Mollie laughed out musically, although she drew herself away from him
with an unmistakable chill in her manner.
"Pray, do not be disturbed," she said lightly, "for I assure you that I
enjoy my 'wages,' as you term them, immensely."
"But the humiliation of it," he persisted hotly; "to think of it!--you,
who are fit to queen it anywhere, becoming the servant of any one!"
"I have no sense of humiliation, Philip. I frankly protest that I never
in my life experienced a more comforting sense of self-respect than at
the present time," Mollie spiritedly rejoined, and with a warning
sparkle in her eyes.
"But there is no need of it," he insisted.
"There is every need," she briefly, but gravely, replied.
"No, no, Mollie; surely you have not forgotten the old days," he broke
forth vehemently; "you cannot have forgotten the question which I asked
you a year and a half ago, and which you have never answered. Need I
tell you that I still love you with all my heart?--that I yearn for you,
in spite of the little misunderstanding and interruption to our
correspondence? Mollie, dearest, give up this position; let me provide
for you hereafter--let me stand between you and the necessity for toil;
give yourself to me--you shall have every wish gratified, and I will
become your protector and--your slave."