This was plain speaking, but Mr. Ward was getting desperate. His motherless girls had no protector but himself. It was pretty to see how Waveney blushed on Mollie's account.
"Father, dear," she stammered, "I can't be quite sure but I think Mollie is beginning to care a little for Mr. Ingram. She certainly misses him; he is very keen and clever, and I fancy that he understands her so well that he will not hurry things. I mean"--explaining herself with difficulty--"that he will not speak until he is certain that her heart is won."
"That is my opinion, too," returned her father; and then he looked at her with tender curiosity. "Where did you gain your knowledge of men, little girl?" But Waveney had no answer ready for this question.
That night, as they sat on the rug in the firelight, like two blissful salamanders, Mollie said, in a flurried and anxious voice,--
"Wave, darling, I want to consult you about something, and you must give me all your attention; you know," clearing her throat, as though it were a little dry; "we have decided that I had better not write to Mr. Ingram."
"Oh, yes, Mollie, we decided that long ago." Waveney spoke in a calm and judicial voice, but Mollie only grew more flurried.
"But I must do something to please him," she returned, in quite a distressed tone. "Think of all the pleasure he has given me, Wave. I have got such a lovely idea in my head. I have finished the _menu_-cards, and I want to paint one of these white velum pocket-books for Mr. Ingram--a spray of purple pansies would look so well on it. And I will have it all ready for him when he comes next. Don't you think he would be pleased, Wave?"
"Of course he would be pleased, sweetheart; he would carry it next to his heart, and sleep with it under his pillow." But this nonsense was received rather pettishly.
"I wish you would be serious when a person asks advice," returned Mollie, with a little frown. "You would not like any one to say those silly things to you." Then Waveney was on her best behaviour at once, and the naughty, mischievous sparkle faded out of her eyes.
"Don't be cross, Mollie darling," she said caressingly. "I do think your idea very pretty, and I should think Mr. Ingram will be very pleased, he does admire your painting so. Why have you selected pansies, I wonder?" Then, at this very simple question, Mollie looked a little confused. "They are his favourite flowers," she almost whispered; "he says you can never have too much heart's-ease in this world." And this answer fully satisfied Waveney.