All the evening Molly waited in despair. She dared not appear at dinner and arose the next morning after a sleepless night. For two or three hours she hovered about the telephone, hoping for word from Theodore. He would certainly ’phone her. He would tell her he was sorry for the way he had left her, for the way he had spoken to her. Even his mother noticed her pale face and extreme nervousness.

“What is it, dear?” asked Mrs. King, solicitously.

“Nothing, nothing—much,” answered Molly evasively.

Mrs. King hesitated before she ventured, “I thought I heard you and Theo talking excitedly last night. Molly, you musn’t quarrel with him.... You know the wish of my heart.... I need you, child, and so does he.”

Miss Merriweather knelt beside the gentle woman.

“He doesn’t care for me, dear!” she whispered.

For an instant she was impelled to speak of Jinnie, but realizing what a tremendous influence Theodore had over his mother, she dared not. Like her handsome son, Mrs. King worshipped genius, and Molly reluctantly admitted to herself that the girl possessed it.

“He’s young yet,” sighed the mother, “and he’s always so sweet to you, Molly. Some day he’ll wake up.... There, there, dearie, don’t cry!”

“I’m so unhappy,” sobbed Molly.

Mrs. King smoothed the golden head tenderly. 193

“Why, child, he can’t help but love you,” she insisted. “He knows how much I depend on you.... I’d have had you with me long before if your father hadn’t needed you.... Shall I speak to Theodore?”

“No, no––” gasped Molly, and she ran from the room.

Under the tall trees she paced for many minutes. How could she wait until dinner—until he came home? She felt her pride ebbing away as she watched the sun cross the sky. The minutes seemed hours long. Molly went swiftly into the house. First assuring herself no one was within hearing distance, she paused before the telephone, longing, yet scarcely daring to use it. Then she took off the receiver and called Theodore’s number. His voice, deep, low and thrilling, answered her.

“It’s I, Theo,” she said faintly.... “Molly.”

“Yes,” he answered, but that was all.

He gave her no encouragement, no opening, but in desperation she uttered,

“Theodore, I’m sorry!... Oh, I’m so sorry!... Won’t you forgive me?”

There was silence on the wire for an appreciable length of time.

“Theodore?” murmured Molly once more.

“Yes.”

“I want you to forgive me.... I couldn’t wait until you came home.”

She heard a slight cough, then came the reply.

“I can’t control your thoughts, Molly, but I dislike to have my friends illy spoken of.”

“I know! I know it, Theodore! But please forgive me, won’t you?”

“Very well,” answered Theodore, and he clicked off the ’phone.

Molly dropped her face into her hands. 194

“He hung the receiver up in my ear,” she muttered. “How cruel, how terrible of him!”

It was a wan, beautiful face that turned up to Theodore King when he came home to dinner. Too kindly by nature to hurt any one, he smiled at Molly. Then he stopped and held out his hand. The woman took it, saying earnestly:

“I’m sorry, Theo.... I’m very sorry. I think I’m a little cat, don’t you?” and she laughed, the tension lifted from her by his cordiality.

There was a wholesomeness in her manner that made Theodore’s heart glad.

“Of course not, Molly!... You couldn’t be that!... And next week we will have a lovely day in the country.”

Molly turned away sadly. She had hoped he would do as she wanted him to in spite of his appointment with Jinnie Grandoken.

That evening Jinnie wore a beautiful new dress when she started for the Kings. Of course she didn’t know that Theodore had arranged with Peggy to purchase it, and when Mrs. Grandoken had told her to come along and buy the gown, Jinnie’s eyes sparkled, but she shook her head.

“I’d rather you’d spend the money on Lafe and Bobbie,” she said.

But Peggy replied, “No,” and that’s how it came that Jinnie stepped quite proudly from the motor car at the stone steps.

Molly Merriweather met her with a forced smile, and Jinnie felt strained until Theodore King’s genial greeting dissipated the affront. After the dinner, through which she sat very much embarrassed, she played until, to the man watching her, it seemed as if the very roof would lift from the house and sail off into the Heavens. 195

When Jinnie was ready to go home, standing blushing under the bright light, she had never looked more lovely. Molly hoped Theo would send the girl alone in the car with Bennett, but as she saw him put on his hat, she said, with hesitancy:

“Mayn’t I go along?”

She asked the question of Theodore, and realized instantly that he did not want her.

Jinnie came forward impetuously.

“Oh, do come, Miss Merriweather! It’ll be so nice.”

And Molly hated the girl more cordially than ever.

On arriving home Jinnie beamed out her happiness to the cobbler and his wife.

“And the fiddle, Peggy, they loved the fiddle,” she told the woman.

“Did you make it, Jinnie?” asked Peggy gruffly.

“What, the fiddle?” demanded Jinnie.

Peggy nodded.

“No,” faltered Jinnie in surprise.

“Then don’t brag about it,” warned Peggy. “If you’d a glued them boards together, it’d a been something, but as long as you didn’t, it ain’t no credit to you.”

Lafe laughed, and Jinnie, too, uttered a low, rueful sound. How funny Peg was! And when Mrs. Grandoken had gone to prepare for the night, Lafe insisted that Jinnie tell him over and over all the happenings of the evening. For a long time afterwards she sat dreaming, reminiscing in sweet fancy every word and smile Theodore had given her.