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Updated: May 25, 2025
Sardonyx, allow me to present to you my plighted husband, Sir Roger Trajenna." Imagine that tableau! For an instant there was dead silence; a bomb bursting in their midst could hardly have startled them more. Mollie dared not look in their faces, lest the inward laughter that convulsed her should burst forth.
But you will never have the chance. I don't hate my poor little captive, remember. There! is that the dinner-bell?" "Yes come! We have Sir Roger Trajenna to-day, and Mr. Walraven detests being kept waiting." "Poor Sir Roger!" with a sneering laugh. "How does the lovesick old dotard bear this second loss?" "Better than he did the first; his pride aids him.
Sir Roger Trajenna, a little surprised, yet bowed with gentlemanly ease, while the three young men sat perfectly thunder-struck. The dead blank was broken by Dr. Oleander. "Permit me to congratulate Sir Roger Trajenna," he said, bowing to that gentleman; "and permit me to thank Miss Dane for this exceedingly unexpected mark of preference.
Now, please be good, and don't bother with tiresome questions." Mr. Walraven stood and looked at her, a petrified gazer. Such unheard-of impudence! Sir Roger Trajenna took up the catechism. "Your pardon, Mollie, but I must ask you a few more questions. There was a young person brought you a letter on the night we were " His voice failed.
"But if she is willing to overlook that objection, you surely may. There is no other drawback that I am aware of. A Trajenna, of Trajenna, might mate with the highest in England." He lifted his white, erect head haughtily, and looked Carl Walraven full in the face. Mr. Walraven held out his hand and grasped the baroness's cordially. "My dear Sir Roger, I am proud and happy beyond expression.
The tall footman threw it open and ushered in Sir Roger Trajenna. The stately old baronet looked ten years older in these few days. Anxiety told upon him more hardly than his seventy yews. "Good-evening, Sir Roger!" cried Mr. Walraven, advancing eagerly. "Any news of Mollie?" He expected to hear "No," but the baronet said "Yes."
He was deeply agitated, and held forth, in a hand that shook, a note to Carl Walraven. "I received that an hour ago, through the post-office. For Heaven's sake, read, and tell me what you think of it!" He dropped exhausted into a chair. Carl Walraven tore open the brief epistle, and devoured its contents: "SIR ROGER TRAJENNA, Give up your search for Mollie Dane.
If it should prove serious, what a thing it will be for her! and these antediluvians, in their dotage, will do such ridiculous things. My Lady Trajenna! Detestable little minx! I should like to poison her!" Miss Dane carried on her flirtations, despite her engagement, with her three more youthful admirers.
He found all the guests assembled before him. It was quite a select little family party, and Mr. Walraven and Sir Roger Trajenna were in a state of despondent gloom that had become chronic of late. Mollie, the apple of their eye, their treasure, their darling, was not present, and the whole universe held nothing to compensate them for her loss. Mrs.
"Well, then, as a friend, I can't say for certain, but I am afraid I am very much afraid I would say " "Miss Dane, permit me!" exclaimed a voice at her elbow "Sir Roger Trajenna, Miss Dane." Miss Dane turned calmly round to her hostess and the guest of the evening, and graciously received the venerable baronet's profound bow.
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