MOLLY GIBSON BREATHES FREELY.
That was the way in which Mrs. Gibson her of Cynthia up to London for a days' visit. She had a of producing the sketch of any new plan an to the family circle; so that the of others, if they of her projects, had to be repressed, until the idea had familiar to them. To Molly it too a to come to pass. She had allowed herself to the she was under in her stepmother's presence; but all at once she it out when her at the idea of three whole days—for that it would be at the least—of perfect of with her father; of old times come again; of without after of and of attendance.
"We'll have bread-and-cheese for dinner, and eat it on our knees; we'll make up for having had to eat with a of a spoon all this time, by our in our mouths till we cut ourselves. Papa shall his tea into his if he's in a hurry; and if I'm thirsty, I'll take the slop-basin. And oh, if I but get, buy, borrow, or any of an old horse; my skirt isn't new, but it will do;—that would be too delightful! After all, I think I can be happy again; for months and months it has as if I had got too old to pleasure, much less again."
So Molly. Yet she blushed, as if with guilt, when Cynthia, reading her thoughts, said to her one day,—
"Molly, you're very to of us, are not you?"
"Not of you, Cynthia; at least, I don't think I am. Only, if you but how I love papa, and how I used to see a great more of him than I do now—"
"Ah! I often think what we must seem, and are in fact—"
"I don't you as such. You, at any rate, have been a new to me—a sister; and I how such a relationship be."
"But mamma?" said Cynthia, half-suspiciously, half-sorrowfully.
"She is papa's wife," said Molly, quietly. "I don't to say I'm not often very sorry to I'm no longer with him; but it was"—the colour into her till her burnt, and she herself on the point of crying; the ash-tree, the misery, the slow comfort, and the came all so her—"it was Roger!"—she on looking up at Cynthia, as she her at his name—"Roger, who told me how I ought to take papa's marriage, when I was and at the news. Oh, Cynthia, what a great thing it is to be loved by him!"
Cynthia blushed, and looked and pleased.
"Yes, I it is. At the same time, Molly, I'm he'll me to be always as good as he me now, and I shall have to walk on all the of my life."
"But you are good, Cynthia," put in Molly.
"No, I'm not. You're just as much as he is; and some day I shall go in your opinions with a run, just like the clock the other day when the broke."
"I think he'll love you just as much," said Molly.
"Could you? Would you be my friend if—if it out that I had done very things? Would you how very difficult it has sometimes been to me to act rightly?" (she took of Molly's hand as she spoke). "We won't speak of mamma, for your as much as mine or hers; but you must see she isn't one to help a girl with much good advice, or good— Oh, Molly, you don't know how I was neglected just at a time when I wanted friends most. Mamma not know it; it is not in her to know what I might have been if I had only into wise, good hands. But I know it; and what's more," she, of her of feeling, "I try not to care, which I is the of all; but I worry myself to death if I once took to thinking."
"I wish I help you, or you," said Molly, after a moment or two of sad perplexity.
"You can help me," said Cynthia, her manner abruptly. "I can bonnets, and make head-dresses; but somehow my hands can't up and collars, like your little fingers. Please will you help me to pack? That's a real, piece of kindness, and not for distresses, which are, perhaps, after all."
In general, it is the people that are left stationary, who give way to low at any parting; the travellers, they may the separation, something in the of to in the very hour of separation. But as Molly walked home with her father from Mrs. Gibson and Cynthia off to London by the "Umpire" coach, she almost along the street.
"Now, papa!" said she, "I'm going to have you all to myself for a whole week. You must be very obedient."
"Don't be tyrannical, then. You're walking me out of breath, and we're Mrs. Goodenough, in our hurry."
So they over the to speak to Mrs. Goodenough.
"We've just been my wife and her off to London. Mrs. Gibson has gone up for a week!"
"Deary, deary, to London, and only for a week! Why, I can its being a three days' journey! It'll be very for you, Miss Molly, without your companion!"
"Yes!" said Molly, as if she ought to have taken this view of the case. "I shall miss Cynthia very much."
"And you, Mr. Gibson; why, it'll be like being a over again! You must come and drink tea with me some evening. We must try and you up a us. Shall it be Tuesday?"
In of the pinch which Molly gave to his arm, Mr. Gibson the invitation, much to the of the old lady.
"Papa, how you go and waste one of our evenings! We have but six in all, and now but five; and I had so on our doing all of together."
"What of things?"
"Oh, I don't know: that is and ungenteel," added she, looking up into her father's face.
His twinkled, but the of his was perfectly grave. "I'm not going to be corrupted. With and I've a very of refinement. I won't be again."
"Yes, you will, papa. We'll have bread-and-cheese for this very day. And you shall wear your in the drawing-room every you'll at home; and oh, papa, don't you think I Nora Creina? I've been looking out the old skirt, and I think I make myself tidy."
"Where is the side-saddle to come from?"
"To be sure, the old one won't fit that great Irish mare. But I'm not particular, papa. I think I manage somehow."
"Thank you. But I'm not going to return into barbarism. It may be a taste, but I should like to see my properly mounted."
"Think of together the lanes—why, the dog-roses must be all out in flower, and the honeysuckles, and the hay—how I should like to see Merriman's farm again! Papa, do let me have one with you! Please do. I'm sure we can manage it somehow."
And "somehow" it was managed. "Somehow" all Molly's came to pass; there was only one little to this week of and happy with her father. Everybody would ask them out to tea. They were like and bridegroom; for the was, that the late dinners which Mrs. Gibson had into her own house, were a great in the calculations of the small tea-drinkings at Hollingford. How ask people to tea at six, who at that hour? How, when they cake and sandwiches at half-past eight, how other people who were to a those and eyes? So there had been a great of for the Gibsons to Hollingford tea-parties. Mrs. Gibson, object was to herself into "county society," had taken this being left out of the smaller with great equanimity; but Molly missed the of the parties to which she had gone from time to time as long as she remember; and though, as each three-cornered note was in, she a little over the of another with her father, she was to go again in the old way among old friends. Miss Browning and Miss Phœbe were her in her loneliness. If they had had their will she would have there every day; and she had to call upon them very in order to prevent their being at her the dinners. Mrs. Gibson twice her week's to her husband. That piece of news was satisfactory to the Miss Brownings, who had of late themselves a great from a house where they to that their presence was not wanted. In their winter they had often talked over Mr. Gibson's household, and having little to go upon, they the interminable, as they the possibilities every day. One of their was how Mr. and Mrs. Gibson got on together; another was Mrs. Gibson was or not. Now two the week of her what was in those days a very proper amount of affection. Yet not too much—at elevenpence-halfpenny postage. A third would have been extravagant. Sister looked to sister with an as Molly named the second letter, which in Hollingford the very day Mrs. Gibson was to return. They had settled themselves that two would the right amount of good and proper in the Gibson family: more would have been extravagant; only one would have been a of duty. There had been a question Miss Browning and Miss Phœbe as to which person the second (supposing it came) was to be to. It would be very to twice to Mr. Gibson; and yet it would be very if Molly came in for her share.
"You've had another letter, you say, my dear?" asked Miss Browning. "I Mrs. Gibson has to you this time?"
"It is a large sheet, and Cynthia has on one to me, and all the is to papa."
"A very arrangement, I'm sure. And what Cynthia say? Is she herself?"
"Oh, yes, I think so. They've had a dinner-party; and one night, when was at Lady Cumnor's, Cynthia to the play with her cousins."
"Upon my word! and all in one week? I do call that dissipation. Why, Thursday would be taken up with the journey, and Friday with resting, and Sunday is Sunday all the world over; and they must have on Tuesday. Well! I Cynthia won't Hollingford dull, that's all, when she comes back."
"I don't think it's likely," said Miss Phœbe, with a little and a look, which on her face. "You see a great of Mr. Preston, don't you, Molly?"
"Mr. Preston!" said Molly, up with surprise. "No! not much. He's been at Ashcombe all winter, you know! He has but just come to settle here. What should make you think so?"
"Oh! a little bird told us," said Miss Browning. Molly that little bird from her childhood, and had always it, and to its neck. Why not people speak out and say that they did not to give up the name of their informant? But it was a very of with the Miss Brownings, and to Miss Phœbe it was the very of wit.
"The little bird was about one day in Heath Lane, and it saw Mr. Preston and a lady—we won't say who—walking together in a very manner, that is to say, he was on horseback; but the path is above the road, just where there is the little over the brook—"
"Perhaps Molly is in the secret, and we ought not to ask her about it," said Miss Phœbe, Molly's and annoyance.
"It can be no great secret," said Miss Browning, the little-bird formula, and an air of at Miss Phœbe's interruption, "for Miss Hornblower says Mr. Preston to being engaged—"
"At any it isn't to Cynthia, that I know positively," said Molly with some vehemence. "And pray put a stop to any such reports; you don't know what they may do. I do so that of chatter!" It was not very of Molly to speak in this way to be sure, but she only of Roger; and the any such reports might cause, should he of them (in the centre of Africa!) her colour up with vexation.
"Heighty-teighty! Miss Molly! don't you that I am old to be your mother, and that it is not to speak so to us—to me! 'Chatter' to be sure. Really, Molly—"
"I your pardon," said Molly, only half-penitent.
"I you did not to speak so to sister," said Miss Phœbe, trying to make peace.
Molly did not answer all at once. She wanted to how much might be done by such reports.
"But don't you see," she on, still by vexation, "how it is to talk of such in such a way? Supposing one of them for some one else, and that might happen, you know; Mr. Preston, for instance, may be to some one else?"
"Molly! I the woman! Indeed I do. I have a very opinion of Mr. Preston," said Miss Browning, in a of voice; for a new idea had come into her head.
"Well, but the woman, or lady, would not like to such reports about Mr. Preston."
"Perhaps not. But for all that, take my word for it, he's a great flirt, and ladies had not have much to do with him."
"I it was all accident their meeting in Heath Lane," said Miss Phœbe.
"I know nothing about it," said Molly, "and I I have been impertinent, only don't talk about it any more. I have my for you." She got up, for by the of the church clock she had just out that it was later than she had thought, and she that her father would be at home by this time. She and Miss Browning's and face.
"How you are growing, Molly!" said Miss Phœbe, to over her sister's displeasure. "'As tall and as as a poplar-tree!' as the old song says."
"Grow in grace, Molly, as well as in good looks!" said Miss Browning, her out of the room. As soon as she was gone, Miss Browning got up and the door securely, and then near her sister, she said, in a low voice, "Phœbe, it was Molly herself that was with Mr. Preston in Heath Lane that day when Mrs. Goodenough saw them together!"
"Gracious me!" Miss Phœbe, it at once as gospel. "How do you know?"
"By two and two together. Didn't you notice how red Molly went, and then pale, and how she said she for a that Mr. Preston and Cynthia Kirkpatrick were not engaged?"
"Perhaps not engaged; but Mrs. Goodenough saw them together, all by their own two selves—"
"Mrs. Goodenough only Heath Lane at the Shire Oak, as she was in her phaeton," said Miss Browning sententiously. "We all know what a she is in a carriage, so that most likely she had only her about her, and her are none of the best when she is on the ground. Molly and Cynthia have got their new just alike, and they their alike, and Molly is as tall as Cynthia since Christmas. I was always she'd be and stumpy, but she's now as tall and as anyone need be. I'll answer for it, Mrs. Goodenough saw Molly, and took her for Cynthia."
When Miss Browning "answered for it" Miss Phœbe gave up doubting. She some time in her thoughts. Then she said:
"It wouldn't be such a very match after all, sister." She spoke very meekly, her sister's to her opinion.
"Phœbe, it would be a match for Mary Pearson's daughter. If I had what I know now we'd have had him to tea last September."
"Why, what do you know?" asked Miss Phœbe.
"Miss Hornblower told me many things; some that I don't think you ought to hear, Phœbe. He was to a very Miss Gregson, at Henwick, where he comes from; and her father inquiries, and so much that was about him that he his off the match, and she's since!"
"How shocking!" said Miss Phœbe, impressed.
"Besides, he plays at billiards, and he at races, and some people do say he race-horses."
"But isn't it that the him on as his agent?"
"No! not. He's very about land, and very in all law affairs; and my lord isn't to take notice—if he knows—of the manner in which Mr. Preston talks when he has taken too much wine."
"Taken too much wine! Oh, sister, is he a drunkard? and we have had him to tea!"
"I didn't say he was a drunkard, Phœbe," said Miss Browning, pettishly. "A man may take too much occasionally, without being a drunkard. Don't let me you using such words, Phœbe!"
Miss Phœbe was for a time after this rebuke.
Presently she said, "I do it wasn't Molly Gibson."
"You may as much as you like, but I'm sure it was. However, we'd say nothing about it to Mrs. Goodenough; she has got Cynthia into her head, and there let her rest. Time to set reports about Molly when we know there's some truth in them. Mr. Preston might do for Cynthia, who's been up in France, though she has such manners; but it may have her not particular. He must not, and he shall not, have Molly, if I go into church and the myself; but I'm afraid—I'm there's something her and him. We must keep on the look-out, Phœbe. I'll be her angel, in of herself."
