* * * * *
It was almost dawn when they returned. Marche's hand lay lightly on
Courtney's shoulder for a moment, as they parted.
Above, as Courtney stood feeling blindly for his door, Molly's door
swung softly ajar, and the girl came out in her night-dress.
"Father," she whispered, "is it all right?"
"All right, thank God, little daughter."
"And--I may care for him?"
"Surely--surely, darling, because he is the finest specimen of manhood
that walks this merciless earth."
"I knew it," she whispered gaily. "If you'll lend me your wrapper a
moment, I'll go to his door and say good-night to him again."
Her father looked at her, picked up his tattered dressing-gown from his
bed, and wrapped her in it to the chin, then kissed her forehead.
So she trotted away to Marche's door and tapped softly; and when he
came and opened the door, she put her arms around his neck and kissed
him.
"Good night," she whispered. "I do love you, and I shall pray all night
that I may be everything that you would wish to have me. Good night,
once more--dearest of men--good night."