MR. KIRKPATRICK, Q.C.
Cynthia was always the same with Molly: kind, sweet-tempered, to help, a great of love for her, and as much as she did for any one in the world. But Molly had to this of and in the of Cynthia's in her father's house; and if she had been of a nature to the of one she loved dearly, she might have that, with all Cynthia's frankness, there were limits which her did not go; where her began, and her self was in mystery. For instance, her relations with Mr. Preston were often very to Molly. She was sure that there had been a much them at Ashcombe, and that the of this was often very and to Cynthia, who was as of it as he was to make her it. But why this had ceased, why Cynthia him so now, and many other with these two facts, were Cynthia's secrets; and she all Molly's the of her for Cynthia, to learn the of her companion's life. Every now and then Molly came to a wall, which she not pass—at least with the which were all she to use. Perhaps Cynthia might have told all there was to tell to a more curiosity, which how to every of the and every fit of to its own gratification. But Molly's was the of affection, not the of for a little excitement; and as soon as she saw that Cynthia did not wish to tell her anything about that period of her life, Molly left off to it. But if Cynthia had a sweet of manner and an for Molly the winter of which there is question, at present she was the only person to the beauty's were unchanged. Mr. Gibson's had been good for her as long as she saw that he liked her; she had to keep as high a place in his good opinion as she could, and had many a little against her mother, and many a of the truth when he was by. Now there was a about her which her more than before; and her partisan, Molly, not help being aware of the she occasionally used when anything in Mr. Gibson's or pressed her too hard. Her to her mother were less than they had been, but there was often the of in her to her. These in and disposition, here all at once, were in themselves a series of of relative spread over many months—many winter months of long and weather, which out of character, as a of cold water out the of an old fresco.
During much of this time Mr. Preston had been at Ashcombe; for Lord Cumnor had not been able to an agent he liked to replace Mr. Preston; and while the Mr. Preston had to do the of both. Mrs. Goodenough had had a illness; and the little at Hollingford did not to meet while one of their set was out of danger. So there had been very little visiting; and though Miss Browning said that the of the of was very to minds, after the of the previous autumn, when there were parties every week to welcome Mr. Preston, yet Miss Phœbe let out in that she and her sister had into the of going to at nine o'clock, for they night after night, from five o'clock till ten, too much of a good thing. To tell the truth, that winter, if peaceful, was in Hollingford; and the whole circle of there was to be up in March by the that Mr. Kirkpatrick, the newly-made Q.C., was on a visit for a of days to his sister-in-law, Mrs. Gibson. Mrs. Goodenough's room was the very centre of gossip; had been her daily through her life, was meat and to her now.
"Dear-ah-me!" said the old lady, herself so as to in her easy-chair, and herself with her hands on the arms; "who would ha' she'd such relations! Why, Mr. Ashton told me once that a Queen's was as like to be a judge as a is like to be a cat. And to think of her being as good as a sister to a judge! I saw one oncst; and I know I as I shouldn't wish for a winter-cloak than his old would make me, if I only out where I 'em second-hand. And I know she'd her and and cleaned, and, for I know, again, while she at Ashcombe. Keeping a school, too, and so near to this Queen's all the time! Well, to be sure, it wasn't much of a school—only ten ladies at the best o' times; so he of it."
"I've been what they'll give him to dinner," said Miss Browning. "It is an unlucky time for visitors; no game to be had, and so late this year, and chicken to be had for love or money."
"He'll have to put up with calf's head, that he will," said Mrs. Goodenough, solemnly. "If I'd ha' got my health I'd copy out a receipt of my grandmother's for a rolled calf's head, and send it to Mrs. Gibson—the doctor has been very to me all through this illness—I wish my in Combermere would send me some autumn chickens—I'd pass 'em on to the doctor, that I would; but she's been a-killing of 'em all, and a-sending of them to me, and the last she sent she me word was the last."
"I wonder if they'll give a party for him!" Miss Phœbe. "I should like to see a Queen's for once in my life. I have javelin-men, but that's the thing in the legal line I came across."
"They'll ask Mr. Ashton, of course," said Miss Browning. "The three black graces, Law, Physic, and Divinity, as the song calls them. Whenever there's a second course, there's always the of the in any family of gentility."
"I wonder if he's married!" said Mrs. Goodenough. Miss Phœbe had been the same wonder, but had not it to it, to her sister, who was the of knowledge, having met Mrs. Gibson in the on her way to Mrs. Goodenough's.
"Yes, he's married, and must have children, for Mrs. Gibson said that Cynthia Kirkpatrick had paid them a visit in London, to have lessons with her cousins. And she said that his wife was a most woman, and of good family, though she him no fortune."
"It's a very connection, I'm sure; it's only a wonder to me as how we've so little talk of it before," said Mrs. Goodenough. "At the look of the thing, I shouldn't ha' Mrs. Gibson was one to away her relations under a bushel; indeed, for that matter, we're all of us o' the best o' the to the front. I remember, speaking o' breadths, how I've my skirts many a time and to put a or a grease-spot next to Mr. Goodenough. He'd a soft of when we was married, and he said, says he, 'Patty, link right arm into my left one, then thou'lt be nearer to my heart;' and so we up the habit, when, man, he'd a more to think on than on which his lay; so, as I said, I always put my on the right hand, and when we walked arm in arm, as we always did, no one was the wiser."
"I should not be if he Cynthia to pay him another visit in London," said Miss Browning. "If he did it when he was poor, he's twenty times more likely to do it now he's a Queen's counsel."
"Ay, work it by the o' three, and she a good chance. I only it won't turn her head; going up visiting in London at her age. Why, I was fifty I went!"
"But she has been in France; she's a lady," said Miss Phœbe.
Mrs. Goodenough her for a whole minute she gave to her opinion.
"It's a risk," said she, "a great risk. I don't like saying so to the doctor, but I shouldn't like having my daughter, if I was him, so cheek-by-jowl with a girl as was up in the country where Robespierre and Bonyparte was born."
"But Buonaparte was a Corsican," said Miss Browning, who was much in knowledge and in of opinions than Mrs. Goodenough. "And there's a great opportunity for of the mind by with countries. I always Cynthia's of manner, too to speak, yet herself forwards; she's a help to a party; and if she has a and graces, why they're natural at her age! Now as for dear Molly, there's a of about her—she one of our best cups last time she was at a party at our house, and the coffee on the new carpet; and then she got so that she did anything but in a and her all the of the evening."
"She was so sorry for what she'd done, sister," said Miss Phœbe, in a of reproach; she was always to Molly.
"Well, and did I say she wasn't? but was there any need for her to be all the after?"
"But you were sharp,—rather displeased—"
"And I think it my to be sharp, ay, and too, when I see careless. And when I see my clear, I do it; I'm not one to from it, and they ought to be to me. It's not every one that will take the trouble of them, as Mrs. Goodenough knows. I'm very of Molly Gibson, very, for her own and for her mother's too; I'm not sure if I don't think she's half-a-dozen Cynthias, but for all that she shouldn't my best teacup, and then doing nothing for her all the of the evening."
By this time Mrs. Goodenough gave of being tired; Molly's and Miss Browning's were not as of as Mrs. Gibson's newly-discovered good luck in having a successful London lawyer for a relation.
Mr. Kirkpatrick had been, like many other men, on in his profession, and with a large family of his own; he was to do a good turn for his connections, if it him no of time, and if (which was, perhaps, a condition) he their existence. Cynthia's visit to Doughty Street nine or ten years ago had not much upon him after he had once its to his good-natured wife. He was every now and then by the of a little girl his own children, as they in to dessert, and had to himself who she was. But as it was his to the table almost and to into a small back-room called his study, to himself in papers for the of the evening, the child had not much upon him; and the next time he her was when Mrs. Kirkpatrick to him to him to Cynthia for a night on her way to at Boulogne. The same was on her return; but it so that he had not her either time; and only some which his wife had on one of these occasions, that it to her to send so a girl so long a without making more for her safety than Mrs. Kirkpatrick had done. He that his wife would up all in this respect as if Cynthia had been her own daughter; and no more about her until he an to Mrs. Kirkpatrick's wedding with Mr. Gibson, the highly-esteemed of Hollingford, &c. &c.—an attention which of him. "Does the woman think I have nothing to do but about the country in search of and bridegrooms, when this great case of Houghton v. Houghton is on, and I haven't a moment to spare?" he asked of his wife.
"Perhaps she of it," Mrs. Kirkpatrick.
"Nonsense! the case has been in the papers for days."
"But she mayn't know you are in it."
"She mayn't," said he, meditatively—such was possible.
But now the great case of Houghton v. Houghton was a thing of the past; the hard was over, the table-land of Q. C.-dom gained, and Mr. Kirkpatrick had for family and recollection. One day in the Easter he himself near Hollingford; he had a Sunday to spare, and he to offer himself as a visitor to the Gibsons from Friday till Monday, (what he felt, in a less degree,) his wish to make Mr. Gibson's acquaintance. Mr. Gibson, though often with professional business, was always hospitable; and moreover, it was always a to him to out of the which he had over and over again, and have a of fresh air: a of what was in the great world his daily limits of and action. So he was to give a welcome to his unknown relation. Mrs. Gibson was in a of delight, which she was family affection, but which might not have been so if Mr. Kirkpatrick had in his position of lawyer, with seven children, in Doughty Street.
When the two met they were each other by a of character, with just in their opinions to make the of each, on which such opinions were based, valuable to the other. To Mrs. Gibson, although the them for very little in their intercourse, Mr. Kirkpatrick paid very attention; and was, in fact, very that she had done so well for herself as to a and man, who was able to keep her in comfort, and to to her in so a manner. Molly him as a delicate-looking girl, who might be very if she had a look of health and animation: indeed, looking at her critically, there were points about her face—long soft eyes, black eyelashes, rarely-showing dimples, perfect teeth; but there was a over all, a slow of manner, which with the brightly-coloured Cynthia, sparkling, quick, graceful, and witty. As Mr. Kirkpatrick it to his wife, he was in love with that girl; and Cynthia, as to as any little girl of three or four, rose to the occasion, all her and despondencies, no longer her at having something of Mr. Gibson's good opinion, and and soft replies, with naïve of humour, till Mr. Kirkpatrick was captivated. He left Hollingford, almost to have performed a duty, and it a pleasure. For Mrs. Gibson and Molly he had a feeling; but he did not if he saw them again. But for Mr. Gibson he had a warm respect, a personal liking, which he should be to have into a friendship, if there was time for it in this world. And he to see more of Cynthia; his wife must know her; they must have her up to with them in London, and her something of the world. But, on returning home, Mr. Kirkpatrick so much work him that he had to lock up and plans in some safe of his mind, and give himself up, and soul, to the work of his profession. But, in May, he time to take his wife to the Academy Exhibition, and some portrait there him as being like Cynthia, he told his wife more about her and his visit to Hollingford than he had had to do before; and the result was that on the next day a was sent off to Mrs. Gibson, Cynthia to pay a visit to her in London, and her of many little that had when she was with them as a child, so as to on the of from that time to the present.
On its receipt, this was in by the four people who the breakfast-table. Mrs. Gibson read it to herself first. Then, without telling what its were, so that her were in the dark as to what her applied, she said,—
"I think they might have that I am a nearer to them than she is, but nobody thinks of family now-a days; and I liked him so much, and a new cookery-book, all to make it and and what he was used to." She said all this in a plaintive, of voice; but as no one to what she was referring, it was difficult to offer her consolation. Her husband was the to speak.
"If you want us to with you, tell us what is the nature of your woe."
"Why, I it's what he means as a very attention, only I think I ought to have been asked Cynthia," said she, reading the over again.
"Who's he? and what's meant for a 'kind attention'?"
"Mr. Kirkpatrick, to be sure. This is from him; and he wants Cynthia to go and pay them a visit, and says anything about you or me, my dear. And I'm sure we did our best to make it pleasant; and he should have asked us first, I think."
"As I couldn't possibly have gone, it makes very little to me."
"But I have gone; and, at any rate, he should have paid us the compliment: it's only a proper mark of respect, you know. So ungrateful, too, when I gave up my dressing-room on purpose for him!"
"And I for dinner every day he was here, if we are each to all our on his behalf. But, for all that, I didn't to be to his house. I shall be only too if he will come again to mine."
"I've a great mind not to let Cynthia go," said Mrs. Gibson reflectively.
"I can't go, mamma," said Cynthia, colouring. "My are all so shabby, and my old must do for the summer."
"Well, but you can a new one; and I'm sure it is high time you should another gown. You must have been saving up a great deal, for I don't know when you've had any new clothes."
Cynthia to say something, but stopped short. She on her toast, but she it in her hand without it; without looking up either, as, after a minute or two of silence, she spoke again:—
"I cannot go. I should like it very much; but I cannot go. Please, mamma, at once, and it."
"Nonsense, child! When a man in Mr. Kirkpatrick's position comes to offer a favour, it not do to it without a reason. So of him as it is, too!"
"Suppose you offer to go of me?" Cynthia.
"No, no! that won't do," said Mr. Gibson, decidedly. "You can't transfer in that way. But, really, this about your appear to be very trivial, Cynthia, if you have no other to give."
"It is a real, true to me," said Cynthia, looking up at him as she spoke. "You must let me judge for myself. It would not do to go there in a of shabbiness, for in Doughty Street, I remember, my aunt was very particular about dress; and now that Margaret and Helen are up, and they visit so much,—pray don't say anything more about it, for I know it would not do."
"What have you done with all your money, I wonder?" said Mrs. Gibson. "You've twenty a year, thanks to Mr. Gibson and me; and I'm sure you haven't more than ten."
"I hadn't many when I came from France," said Cynthia, in a low voice, and by all this questioning. "Pray let it be at once; I can't go, and there's an end of it." She got up, and left the room suddenly.
"I don't it at all," said Mrs. Gibson. "Do you, Molly?"
"No. I know she doesn't like money on her dress, and is very careful." Molly said this much, and then was she had mischief.
"But then she must have got the money somewhere. It always has me that if you have not habits, and do not live up to your income, you must have a to by at the end of the year. Have I not often said so, Mr. Gibson?"
"Probably."
"Well, then, apply the same to Cynthia's case; and then, I ask, what has of the money?"
"I cannot tell," said Molly, that she was to. "She may have it away to some one who wants it."
Mr. Gibson put his newspaper.
"It's very clear that she has neither got the dress the money necessary for this London visit, and that she doesn't want any more to be on the subject. She mysteries, in fact, and I them. Still, I think it's a thing for her to keep up the acquaintance, or friendship, or it is to be called, with her father's family; and I shall give her ten pounds; and if that's not enough, why, either you must help her out, or she must do without some article of dress or another."
"I'm sure there was such a kind, dear, man as you are, Mr. Gibson," said his wife. "To think of your being a stepfather! and so good to my girl! But, Molly my dear, I think you'll that you too are very in your stepmother. Are not you, love? And what happy tête-à-têtes we shall have together when Cynthia goes to London! I'm not sure if I don't on with you than with her, though she is my own child; for, as dear papa says so truly, there is a love of about her; and if I anything, it is the or reserve. Ten pounds! Why, it will set her up, her a of and a new bonnet, and I don't know what all! Dear Mr. Gibson, how you are!"
Something very like "Pshaw!" was out from the newspaper.
"May I go and tell her?" said Molly, up.
"Yes, do, love. Tell her it would be so to refuse; and tell her that your father her to go; and tell her, too, that it would be not to herself of an opening which may by-and-by be to the of the family. I am sure if they ask me—which they ought to do—I won't say they asked Cynthia, I think of myself, and am the most person in the world, in slights;—but when they do ask me, which they are sure to do, I shall be till, by in a little hint here and a little hint there, I've them to send you an invitation. A month or two in London would do you so much good, Molly."
Molly had left the room this speech was ended, and Mr. Gibson was with his newspaper; but Mrs. Gibson it to herself very much to her own satisfaction; for, after all, it was to have some one of the family going on the visit, though she might not be the right person, than to it altogether, and to have the opportunity of saying anything about it. As Mr. Gibson was so to Cynthia, she too would be to Molly, and dress her becomingly, and men to the house; do all the things, in fact, which Molly and her father did not want to have done, and the old stumbling-blocks in the way of their intercourse, which was the one thing they to have, free and open, and without the of her jealousy.
