Molly Bawn Part 20

Round and round goes Molly, round and round follows her pursuer; until Luttrell, finding his prey to be quite as fleet if not fleeter than himself, resorts to a mean expedient, and, catching hold of one side of the table, pushes it, and Molly behind it, slowly but surely into the opposite corner.

There is no hope. Steadily, certainly, she approaches her doom, and with flushed cheeks and eyes gleaming with laughter, makes a vain protest.

"Now I have you," says Luttrell, drawing an elaborate penknife from his pocket, in which all the tools that usually go to adorn a carpenter's shop fight for room. "Prepare for death, or--I give you your choice: I shall either cut your jugular vein or kiss you. Don't hurry. Say which you prefer. It is a matter of indifference to me."

"Cut every vein in my body first," cries Molly, breathless but defiant.

["Let.i.tia," whispers John, "I feel I am going to laugh. What shall I do?"

"Don't," says Let.i.tia, with stern prompt.i.tude. "That is what you will do. It is no laughing matter. I hope you are not going to make a jest of it, John."

"But, my dear, supposing I can't help it?" suggests he, mildly. "Our risible faculties are not always under our control."

"On an occasion such as this they should be."

"Let.i.tia," says Mr. Ma.s.sereene, regarding her with severity, "you are going to laugh yourself; don't deny it."

"No,--no, indeed," protests Let.i.tia, foolishly, considering her handsome face is one broad smile, and that her plump shoulders are visibly shaking.]

"It is mean! it is shameful!" says Molly, from within, seeing no chance of escape. Whichever way she rushes can be only into his arms.

"All that you can say shan't prevent me," decides Luttrell, moving toward her with fell determination in his eye.

"Perhaps a little that I can say may have the desired effect," breaks in Mr. Ma.s.sereene, advancing into the middle of the room, with Let.i.tia, looking rather nervous, behind him.

Tableau.

There is a sudden, rather undignified, cessation of hostilities on the part of Mr. Luttrell, who beats a hasty retreat to the wall, where he stands as though glad of the support. He bears a sneaky rather than a distinguished appearance, and altogether has the grace to betray a considerable amount of shame.

Molly, dropping her gown, turns a rich crimson, but is, I need hardly say, by far the least upset of the two delinquents. She remains where she is, hedged in by the table, and is conscious of feeling a wild desire to laugh.

Determined to break the silence, which is proving oppressive, she says, demurely:

"How fortunate, John, that you happened to be on the spot! Mr. Luttrell was behaving _so_ badly!"

"I don't need to be told that."

"But how did you come here?" asks Molly, making a brave but unsuccessful effort to turn the tables upon the enemy. "And Let.i.tia, too! I do hate people who turn up when they are least expected. What were you doing on the balcony?"

"Watching you--and--your friend," says John, very gravely for him. He addresses himself entirely to Molly, her "friend" being in the last stage of confusion and utterly incapable of speech. At this, however, he can support the situation no longer, and, coming forward, says eagerly:

"John, let me explain. The fact is, I asked Miss Ma.s.sereene to marry me, a little time ago, and she has promised to do so--if you--don't object." After this bit of eloquence he draws himself up, with a little shake, as though he had rid himself of something disagreeable, and becomes once more his usual self.

Let.i.tia puts on a "didn't I tell you?" sort of air, and John says:

"Is that so?" looking at Molly for confirmation.

"Yes, if it is your wish," cries she, forsaking her retreat, and coming forward to lay her hand upon her brother's arm entreatingly, and with a gesture full of tenderness. "But if you do object, if it vexes you in the very slightest degree, John, I----"

"But you will give your consent, Ma.s.sereene," interrupts her lover, hastily, as though dreading the remainder of the sentence, "won't you?"

He too has come close up to John, and stands on one side, opposite Molly. Almost, from the troubled expression of his face as he looks at the girl, one might imagine him trying to combat her apparent lukewarmness more then her brother's objections.

"Things seem to have progressed very favorably without my consent,"

says John, glancing at the unlucky table, which has come in for a most unfair share of the blame. "But before giving you my blessing I acknowledge--now we are on the subject--I would like to know on what sum you intend setting up housekeeping." Here Let.i.tia, who has preserved a strict neutrality throughout, comes more to the front. "It is inconvenient, and anything but romantic, I know, but people must eat, and those who indulge in _violent exercise_ are generally possessed of healthy appet.i.tes."

"I have over five hundred a year," says Luttrell, coloring, and feeling as if he had said fifty and was going to be called presumptuous. He also feels that John has by some sudden means become very many years older than he really is.

"That includes everything?"

"Everything. When my uncle--Maxwell Luttrell--hops the--that is, drops off--I mean dies," says Luttrell whose slang is extensive and rather confusing, "I shall come in for five thousand pounds more."

"How can you speak in such a cold-blooded way of your uncle's death?"

says Molly, who is not so much impressed by the occasion as she should be.

"Why not? There is no love lost between us. If he could leave it away from me he would; but that is out of his power."

"That makes it seven hundred," says Let.i.tia, softly, _a propos_ of the income.

"Nearer eight," says he, brightening at her tone.

"Molly, you wish to marry Tedcastle?" John asks his sister, gazing at her earnestly.

"Ye--es; but I'm not in a hurry, you know," replies she, with a little nod.

Ma.s.sereene regards her curiously for a moment or two; then he says:

"She is young, Luttrell; she has seen little of the world. You must give her time. I know no man I would prefer to you as a brother; but--give her time. Be satisfied with the engagement; do not let us speak of marriage just yet."

"Not unless she wishes it," says the young man bravely, and perhaps a little proudly.

"In a year," says John, still with his eyes on his beautiful sister, and speaking with marked hesitation, as though waiting for her to make some sign by which he shall know how to best forward her secret wishes; "then we may begin to talk about it."

"Yes, then we may talk about it," echoes Molly, cheerfully.

"But a year!--it is a lifetime," says Luttrell, with some excitement, turning his eyes, full of a mute desire for help, upon Let.i.tia. And when did Let.i.tia ever fail any one?

"I certainly think it is too long," she says, truthfully and kindly.

"No," cries Molly, pettishly, "it shall be as John wishes. Why, it is nothing! Think of all the long years to come afterward, when we shall not be able to get rid of each other, no matter how earnestly we may desire it; and then see how small in comparison is this one year."

Luttrell, who has grown a little pale, goes over to her and takes her hand in both his. His face is grave, fuller of purpose than they have ever seen it. To him the scene is a betrothal, almost a marriage.

"You will be true to me?" he says, with suppressed emotion. "Swear that you will, before your brother."

"Of course I will," with a quick, nervous laugh. "Why should I be otherwise? You frighten me with your solemn ways. Am I more to you than I was yesterday? Why, how should I be untrue to you, even if I wished it? I shall see no one from the day you leave until you come again."

At this moment the noise of the door-handle being turned makes him drop her hand, and they all fall simultaneously into what they hope is an easy att.i.tude. And then Sarah appears upon the threshold with a letter and a small packet between her first finger and thumb. She is a very genteel girl, is Sarah, and would scorn to take a firm grasp of anything.