Mr. Ingelow in an inner room had made his toilet, and stood before Mollie, hat in hand, ready to depart for the Walraven mansion.
The Ingelows, of Ingelow Grange, were not a marrying family.
"I have everything arranged for the funeral, Mollie," Mr. Ingelow said at parting.
Mr. Ingelow, on whose arm she leaned, led her to the piano at once.
Mr. Ingelow obeyed with no very good grace; the sparkling, blue-eyed coquette had made wild work with his artist heart already.
You dreaded it was me—you hoped it was that puppy, Ingelow, confound him!
Now was Mr. Ingelow's time, surely, if he cared for Mollie at all; but Mr. Ingelow spoke never a word.
"Will you have the goodness to explain, my good woman," said Mr. Ingelow, beseechingly.
Mr. Ingelow was very pale when he emerged into thronged Broadway, but there was no indecision in his movements.
It was the first time she had ever called him other than Mr. Ingelow.