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."