Mrs Gibson came back full of rose-coloured accounts of London.Lady Cumnor had been gracious and affectionate, 'so touched by my going up to see her, so soon after her return to England;' Lady Harriet charming and devoted to her old governess; Lord Cumnor 'just like his dear usual hearty self;' and as for the Kirkpatricks, no Lord Chancellor's house was ever grander than theirs, and the silk gown of the Q.C.had floated over housemaids and footmen.Cynthia, too, was so much admired; and as for her dress, Mrs Kirkpatrick had showered down ball-dresses and wreaths, and pretty bonnets and mantles, like a fairy godmother.Mr Gibson's poor present of ten pounds shrank into very small dimensions compared with all this munificence.
'And they're so fond of her, I don't know when we shall have her back,'
was Mrs Gibson's winding-up sentence.'And now, Molly, what have you and papa been doing? Very gay, you sounded in your letter.I had not time to read it in London; so I put it in my pocket, and read it in the coach coming home.But, my dear child, you do look so old-fashioned with your gown made all tight, and your hair all tumbling about in curls.Curls are quite gone out.' We must do your hair differently,' she continued, trying to smooth Molly's black waves into straightness.
'I sent Cynthia an African letter,' said Molly, timidly.'Did you hear anything of what was in it?'
'Oh, yes, poor child! It made her very uneasy, I think; she said she did not feel inclined to go to Mr Rawson's ball, which was on that night, and for which Mrs Kirkpatrick had given her the ball-dress.But there really was nothing for her to fidget herself about.Roger only said he had had another touch of fever, but was better when he wrote.He says every European has to be acclimatized by fever in that part of Abyssinia where he is.'
'And did she go?' asked Molly.
'Yes, to be sure.It is not an engagement; and if it were, it is not acknowledged.Fancy her going and saying, "A young man that I know has been ill for a few days in Africa, two months ago, therefore I don't want to go to the ball to-night." It would have seemed like affectation of sentiment;and if there's one thing I hate it is that.'
'She would hardly enjoy herself,' said Molly.
'Oh, yes, but she did.Her dress was white gauze, trimmed with lilacs, and she really did look - a mother may be allowed a little natural partiality - most lovely.And she danced every dance, although she was quite a stranger.
I am sure she enjoyed herself, from her manner of talking about it next morning.'
'I wonder if the squire knows.'
'Knows what? Oh, yes, to be sure! You mean about Roger.I dare say he doesn't, and there's no need to tell him, for I've no doubt it is all right now.' And she went out of the room to Finish her unpacking.
Molly let her work fall, and sighed.'It will be a year the day after to-morrow since he came here to propose our going to Hurst Wood, and mamma was so vexed at his calling before lunch.I wonder if Cynthia remembers it as well as I do.And now, perhaps -- Oh! Roger, Roger! I wish - I pray that you were safe home again! How could we all bear it, if -- '
She covered her face with her hands, and tried to stop thinking.Suddenly she got up, as if stung by a venomous fancy, 'I don't believe she loves him as she ought, or she could not - could not have gone and danced.What shall I do if she does not? What shall Ido? I can bear anything but that.'
But she found the long suspense as to his health hard enough to endure.
They were not likely to hear from him for a month at least, and before that time had elapsed Cynthia would be at home again.Molly learnt to long for her return before a fortnight of her absence was over.She had had no idea that perpetual tête-?têtes with Mrs Gibson could, by any possibility, be so tiresome as she found them.Perhaps Molly's state of delicate health, consequent upon her rapid growth during the last few months, made her irritable; but really often she had to get up and leave the room to calm herself down after listening to a long series of words, more frequently plaintive or discontented in tone than cheerful, and which at the end conveyed no distinct impression of either the spthieaker's thought or feeling.Whenever anything had gone wrong, whenever Mr Gibson had coolly persevered in anything to which she had objected; whenever the cook had made a mistake about the dinner, or the housemaid broken any little frangible article; whenever Molly's hair was not done to her liking, or her dress did not become her, or the smell of dinner pervaded the house, or the wrong callers came, or the right callers did not come - in fact, whenever anything went wrong, poor Mr Kirkpatrick was regretted and mourned over, nay, almost blamed, as if, had he only given himself the trouble of living, he could have helped it.
'When I look back to those happy days, it seems to me as if I had never valued them as I ought.To be sure - youth, love, - what did we care for poverty! I remember dear Mr Kirkpatrick walking five miles into Stratford to buy me a muffin because I had such a fancy for one after Cynthia was born.I don't mean to complain of dear papa - but I don't think - but, perhaps I ought not to say it to you.If Mr Kirkpatrick had but taken care of that cough of his; but he was so obstinate! Men always are, I think.
And it really was selfish of him.Only I dare say he did not consider the forlorn state in which I should be left.It came harder upon me than upon most people, because I always was of such an affectionate sensitive nature.
I remember a little poem of Mr Kirkpatrick's in which he compared my heart to a harp-string, vibrating to the slightest breeze.'
'I thought harp-strings required a pretty strong finger to make them sound,' said Molly.
'My dear child, you've no more poetry in you than your father.And as for your hair! it's worse than ever.Can't you drench it in water to take those untidy twists and twirls out of it?'
