"She's a dear good girl, and
just because I've got myself into a mess, I've no idea of behaving like
a cad to her," he thought.
That was downstairs in the hotel dining-room, and an hour later, when he
faced Molly alone in the little sitting-room, he repeated the phrase to
himself with an additional emphasis--for when the woman before him in
flesh and blood looked up at him with entreating eyes, like a child
begging a favour, the woman in his memory faded quickly into remoteness.
"What's the matter, little girl?" he asked.
"Oh, Jonathan, I must go back to Old Church--to-morrow!" she said.
"Why in thunder do you want to do that?"
"There's something I must see about. I can't wait. I never can wait when
I want anything."
"So I have observed. This something is so important, by the way, that
you haven't thought of it for six months?"
"Well, I've thought of it--sometimes," she admitted.
"Can't you tell me what it is, Molly?"
She shook her head. Her face was pink and her eyes shone; whatever it
was, it had obviously enriched her beauty.
"Tell me, little girl," he repeated and leaned closer.
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