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They were both young men, both tall, broad-shouldered, manly, walking
with the easy swinging movement of men accustomed to active exercise.
One, the handsomer of the two in Mary's eyes, since she thought him
simply perfection, was fair-haired, blue-eyed, the typical Saxon. This
was Lord Maulevrier. The other was dark, bronzed by foreign travel,
perhaps, with black hair, cut very close to an intelligent-looking head,
bared to the evening breeze.
'Hulloa!' cried Maulevrier. 'There's Molly. How d'ye do, old girl?'
The two men looked up, and Molly looked down. Delight at her brother's
return so filled her heart and mind that there was no room left for
embarrassment at the appearance of a stranger.
'O, Maulevrier, I am so glad! I have been pining for you. Why didn't you
write to say you were coming? It would have been something to look
forward to.'
'Couldn't. Never knew from day to day what I was going to be up to;
besides, I knew I should find you at home.'
'Of course. We are always at home,' said Mary; 'go up to the house as
fast as ever you can.


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