Chapter XXII: The Way of the Wind

MR. SCOTT passed on, surrounded by a host of friends, and Molly returned to her seat. Rather a long pause had come, with no fresh partners, Mrs. Bryce having too many irons in the fire to spare much time for looking after the quiet country girl by her side. Molly cared little. She liked to watch and listen, indulging in cogitations of her own. Growing surfeited with Mrs. Bryce's gay talk, she turned her attention to Admiral Peirce, who, close at hand, was holding forth in a loud voice on the advantages of London as a place of residence.

"Why, sir," he was saying, "why, sir, there's nothing after all like old Thames. Give me the blue ocean and tossing waves. But for a landsman, why, the Thames is as good as he may look to find. And I tell you what, sir, the water of the river Thames is the finest drinking water in the world. Only has to stand and ferment a little, and then it'll keep as long as ever you want it. Yes, sir, it will indeed."

Molly, being sublimely indifferent to the qualities of London drinking water, which in those days was not a question of pressing interest, wandered elsewhere. A slight pucker came between her smooth brows as she made out Polly at a short distance, with Captain Peirce in attendance. He was bending towards Polly, saying something in a low and confidential voice. It could not be known from Polly's look whether she were pleased or displeased.

The gay scene faded from Molly's vision. She was looking down, thoughtfully, on her own half-furled fan. But she did not see the fan, or the crowds of gay women around, with their low dresses and hats or turbans, their scarves and muffs and satin shoes. Another scene had risen before her mental eyes. She seemed again to be in a day long gone by, and Roy was giving her a boisterous kiss.

"All right, Molly!" he was calling gaily. "It's only for two weeks, you know, and then we shall be back." And as Roy ran off, in high glee, she had looked up, and had seen Denham Ivor holding Polly's hands in a firm clasp, while Polly's sweet face was downward, bent and blushing. But it was not Polly who, in one moment, had left an indelible impression upon Molly's childish memory. When she thought of that day, it was always Ivor's face, always the young Guardsman's look of silent grave devotion, which, unbidden, came up.

"How can Mrs. Bryce say such things? He will never, never forget," murmured Molly, her lips moving.

"Molly, this is, sure, scarce a place for audible meditation."

Molly's face grew bright, as Jack deposited himself in an empty chair by her side.

"Were you spouting Mr. Scott's last new poem?"

"You love to plague me, Jack. Why should I be spouting aught?"

Jack gave her a quizzical look.

"Three dances with me to come, mind you, Molly."

"Two," corrected Molly. "My grandmother desired me to dance no more than two with any one man. And what has become of Bob to-night?"

"Bob was on duty, and could not arrive till late. He desired me to plead with you to keep at the least three dances for him."

"Nay, I will keep two," demurely replied Molly. "And what of Sir John?" She had a quick womanly instinct, not possessed by all women, as to what people would like to speak about, and she generally managed to hit the mark, whence her quiet popularity in the little circle of those who knew her well.

"I went to Cobham a week since, and saw his mother. She fears that Sir John is sorely tried by these Sicilian complications. The Queen of the Sicilies must be a strange personage. She detests the English, and gives all her confidence to Frenchmen. Yet our Government fights in defence of the King, her husband."

"And 'tis but a year since Sir John was on the alert to be sent to the Indies."

"Ay, for he deems India to be by far the most important Colony our nation has ever had. He thought he might well go for a while, since matters in Europe were somewhat at a standstill."

"Was Buonaparte at a standstill, Jack?"

"Nay; but since the Battle of Trafalgar, there can be no further dread of an invasion; and little was being done to check his progress on the Continent. But Mr. Fox flatly declined to let Sir John go to the Indies. He said England could not safely spare him."

"'Twas a marvellous beautiful diamond star that the officers of his regiment presented to him when he was made Knight," observed Molly. "I saw it last month, for the first time."

"And a fitter token of regard than brilliants could scarce have been chosen for one of his transcendent purity of character," declared Jack.

Molly's attention wandered slightly, and Jack scanned her with an air of brotherly criticism. He was very fond of Molly, and she of him. It seemed to him this evening that she was looking particularly nice and ladylike, or, in the phraseology of the day, "pleasing and genteel." She was not pretty. Jack did not wish her to be pretty. He liked her better as she was.

"And had Sir John gone out to India, you doubtless would have wished to go also, Jack?"

"Doubtless," Jack replied at once. "In which case you would have missed me, Molly? As much as you miss Roy?"

Molly laughed outright. "Jack!—Jack!—why, Jack! Roy is my twin. He is more to me than all the world beside. Never in my life shall I care for any other as I care for Roy."

Jack laughed in his turn derisively.

"Never, never, never!" repeated Molly. "O never! I love my father and my mother dearly, and I love Polly, and Denham is a brother to me. And I love my grandmother, And I—like you and Bob too. I like you both. But Roy—Roy—he is more than all!"

"That is vastly well, Molly. But wait till your time shall come—till somebody will be more to you than even Roy."

"Never!" reiterated Molly. "You mean that one day I shall have a preference for—for some gallant gentleman! Nay, but I shall never marry, for I could not care for any, beyond my caring for Roy. And so that matter is for ever settled."

Jack was silent, perhaps a degree vexed. He was not in love with Molly himself, and he believed that Bob Monke was in love with her. Perhaps he was jealous for Bob. Perhaps he was jealous for himself. Though he and Molly were simply friends—bon camarades, in modern parlance—he did not quite see why he should rank second to the long-absent Roy.

Then again Molly's attention wandered, and Jack's glance followed hers. Molly's brow puckered, and Jack's drew into a frown.

"She is wondrous pretty," Molly said softly.

"But Peirce—what business has Peirce? He knows, sure, as to Ivor!"

"Why, Jack, all the world knows."

"And Polly permits!"

"Does Polly permit? Can Polly help it? If she holds aloof, and seeks to check those who come after her, they do but come the more. Polly cannot be sharp with folks. She is so sweet, and 'tis not her way. And Mrs. Bryce too, ever talking—" Molly breathed this very low—"ever seeking to persuade Polly that Den will forget, and will care no more for her."

Jack muttered something to himself. "Then—'tis her wish?"

"The wish of Mrs. Bryce!" Molly's face took an arch set. "Ay, since Captain Peirce came in for of money, on the death of his grandfather. He will be a richer man than Den, by a matter of ten pounds to one."

"Phew!" muttered jack in disgust. "Ivor will have enough. If Polly casts him off, she will deserve to suffer for it all her life long. She will lose one of the best men living."