Sir Roger turned with something like a frown to his bride-elect.
"What does it mean, Mollie ?" Mollie laughed--such a gay, girlish laugh! "Can't you see, Sir Roger?
They are nearly frantic with jealousy, the three of them.

What fun it was to see them sitting there and scowling at one another!" "But they threatened, did they not ?" the baronet asked, still frowning.
"Did they?
They said they would remember, and I think it is very likely they will.

Poor fellows! It was natural, and I don't mind." "And when am I to speak to your guardian now ?" "As soon as you please--after luncheon, if you like.

I don't suppose he'll object." "Certainly not," Sir Roger said, proudly; "and then, my dearest, when am I to have my lovely little wife ?" "Oh, I don't know! It isn't well to be in any hurry.

Wait a year or two." "A year or two!" cried Sir Roger, in much the same tone as if she had said a century or two.