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.
"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."