CYNTHIA AT BAY.
Mrs. Gibson was slow in her after the influenza, and she was well to accept Lady Harriet's to the Towers, Cynthia came home from London. If Molly had her manner of was as and as it might have been,—if such a had Molly's for an instant, she was for it as soon as Cynthia returned, and the girls met together to face, with all the old familiar affection, going to the drawing-room, with their arms each other's waists, and there together hand in hand. Cynthia's whole manner was more than it had been, when the weight of her rested on her mind, and her alternately or flighty.
"After all," said Cynthia, "there's a look of home about these rooms which is very pleasant. But I wish I see you looking stronger, mamma! that's the only thing. Molly, why didn't you send for me?"
"I wanted to do," Molly—
"But I wouldn't let her," said Mrs. Gibson. "You were much in London than here, for you have done me no good; and your were very to read; and now Helen is better, and I'm nearly well, and you've come home just at the right time, for is full of the Charity Ball."
"But we are not going this year, mamma," said Cynthia decidedly. "It's on the 25th, isn't it? and I'm sure you'll be well to take us."
"You to make me out than I am, child," said Mrs. Gibson, querulously, she being one of those who, when their is only trifling, it, but when it is of some consequence, are to any by it. It was well for her in this that her husband had and authority to her going to this ball, on which she had set her heart; but the of his was an of and low spirits, which to tell on Cynthia—the Cynthia herself—and it was often hard work for Molly to keep up the of two other people as well as her own. Ill-health might account for Mrs. Gibson's despondency, but why was Cynthia so silent, not to say so sighing? Molly was puzzled to account for it; and all the more from time to time Cynthia calling upon her for for some unknown and that she had practised; and Molly was to that, after any of virtue, the rose, up by an conscience. Such was not the case with Cynthia, however. She sometimes said such as these, when she had been particularly and desponding:—
"Ah, Molly, you must let my for a while! It has such a this year. I have been so pretty-behaved—if you all!" Or, "Really, Molly, my must come from the clouds! It was to the in London—and I it is like a kite—after for some time, it comes down, and in all of and brambles; which are an allegory, unless you can to in my while I was away—giving me a of right to of all mamma's and now."
But Molly had had some of Cynthia's of at a which she did not to in the Mr. Preston days, and, although she was occasionally into curiosity, Cynthia's at something more in the in on ears. One day the its shell, and came out in the shape of an offer to Cynthia by Mr. Henderson—and refused. Under all the circumstances, Molly not the so often to. The of the at last took place in this way. Mrs. Gibson in bed: she had done so since she had had the influenza; and, consequently, her own private always up on her breakfast-tray. One she came into the drawing-room than usual, with an open in her hand.
"I've had a from aunt Kirkpatrick, Cynthia. She sends me my dividends,—your uncle is so busy. But what she by this, Cynthia?" (holding out the to her, with a paragraph by her finger). Cynthia put her on one side, and looked at the writing. Suddenly her scarlet, and then of a white. She looked at Molly, as if to from the countenance.
"It means—mamma, I may as well tell you at once—Mr. Henderson offered to me while I was in London, and I him."
"Refused him—and you told me, but let me it by chance! Really, Cynthia, I think you're very unkind. And pray what you Mr. Henderson? Such a man,—and such a gentleman! Your uncle told me he had a very good private besides."
"Mamma, do you that I have promised to Roger Hamley?" said Cynthia quietly.
"No! of I don't—how can I, with Molly always the word 'engagement' into my ears? But really, when one all the uncertainties,—and after all it was not a promise,—he almost as if he might have looked to something of this sort."
"Of what sort, mamma?" said Cynthia, sharply.
"Why, of a more offer. He must have you might your mind, and meet with some one you liked better: so little as you had of the world." Cynthia an movement, as if to stop her mother.
"I said I liked him better,—how can you talk so, mamma? I'm going to Roger, and there's an end of it. I will not be spoken to about it again." She got up and left the room.
"Going to Roger! That's all very fine. But who is to his alive? And if he does, what have they to upon, I should like to know? I don't wish her to have Mr. Henderson, though I am sure she liked him; and true love ought to have its course, and not be thwarted; but she need not have him until—well, until we had how turn out. Such an as I am too! It has me a at the heart. I do call it of Cynthia."
"Certainly,—" Molly; but then she that her was from strong, and unable to a in of the right without irritation. So she her speech into a of for palpitation; and her to speak out her at the to Roger. But when they were alone, and Cynthia upon the subject, Molly was less merciful. Cynthia said,—
"Well, Molly, and now you know all! I've been to tell you—and yet somehow I not."
"I it was a of Mr. Coxe," said Molly, gravely. "You were agreeable,—and he took it for something more."
"I don't know," Cynthia. "I I don't know if I was or not. He was very kind—very pleasant—but I did not it all to end as it did. However, it's of no use of it."
"No!" said Molly, simply; for to her mind the and person in the world put in with Roger was as nothing; he by himself. Cynthia's next words,—and they did not come very soon,—were on a different subject, and spoken in a tone. Nor did she again in to her late at virtue.
In a little while Mrs. Gibson was able to accept the often-repeated from the Towers to go and there for a day or two. Lady Harriet told her that it would be a to Lady Cumnor to come and her company in the life of the was still to lead; and Mrs. Gibson was and with a of being wanted, not herself into a fiction. Lady Cumnor was in that of common to many invalids. The of life had again to flow, and with the returned the old and and plans, which had all of the part of her illness. But as yet her was not to be an agent to her mind, and the of the ill-matched pair of and will—the one weak and languid, the other and stern,—made her often very irritable. Mrs. Gibson herself was not for a "souffre-douleur;" and the visit to the Towers was not, on the whole, so happy a one as she had anticipated. Lady Cuxhaven and Lady Harriet, each aware of their mother's of health and temper, but only to it as as was necessary in their with each other, took not to "Clare" too long with Lady Cumnor; but times when one or the other to they Clare in tears, and Lady Cumnor on some point on which she had been the hours of her illness, and on which she to herself to set the world to rights. Mrs. Gibson was always to these as with a personal direction at some error of her own, and the fault in question with a of property in it, it might to be. The second and the last day of her at the Towers, Lady Harriet came in, and her mother in an of voice, and Clare looking and and oppressed.
"What's the matter, dear mamma? Are not you with talking?"
"No, not at all! I was only speaking of the of people above their station. I by telling Clare of the fashions of my grandmother's days, when every class had a of of its own,—and did not tradespeople, professional men, and so on,—and what must the woman do but to her own dress, as if I had been her, or about her at all. Such nonsense! Really, Clare, your husband has you sadly, if you can't to any one without they are to you. People may themselves just as much by that their are always present to other people's minds, as if they that the world is always their and virtues."
"I was told, Lady Cumnor, that this was in price. I it at Waterloo House after the season was over," said Mrs. Gibson, the very she in of Lady Cumnor's angry voice, and on to the very of irritation.
"Again, Clare! How often must I tell you I had no of you or your gowns, or they cost much or little; your husband has to pay for them, and it is his if you more on your dress than you ought to do."
"It was only five for the whole dress," Mrs. Gibson.
"And very it is," said Lady Harriet, to it, and so to the woman. But Lady Cumnor on,—
"No! you ought to have me by this time. When I think a thing I say it out. I don't about the bush. I use language. I will tell you where I think you have been in fault, Clare, if you like to know." Like it or not, the plain-speaking was now. "You have that girl of yours till she not know her own mind. She has to Mr. Preston; and it is all in of the in her education. You have much to answer for."
"Mamma, mamma!" said Lady Harriet, "Mr. Preston did not wish it spoken about." And at the same moment Mrs. Gibson exclaimed, "Cynthia—Mr. Preston!" in such a of surprise, that if Lady Cumnor had been in the of the by other people's and voices, she would have out that Mrs. Gibson was of the to which she was alluding.
"As for Mr. Preston's wishes, I do not I am to them when I it my to error," said Lady Cumnor to Lady Harriet. "And, Clare, do you to say that you are not aware that your has been to Mr. Preston for some time—years, I believe,—and has at last to it off,—and has used the Gibson girl—I her name—as a cat's-paw, and her and herself the town's talk—the for all the of Hollingford? I when I was there was a girl called Jilting Jessy. You'll have to watch over your lady, or she will some such name. I speak to you like a friend, Clare, when I tell you it's my opinion that girl of yours will herself into some more yet she's safely married. Not that I one for Mr. Preston's feelings. I don't know if he's got or not; but I know what is in a woman, and is not. And now you may go away, and send Bradley to me, for I'm tired, and want to have a little sleep."
"Indeed, Lady Cumnor—will you me?—I do not think Cynthia was to Mr. Preston. There was an old flirtation. I was afraid—"
"Ring the for Bradley," said Lady Cumnor, wearily: her closed. Lady Harriet had too much of her mother's moods not to lead Mrs. Gibson away almost by main force, she all the while that she did not think there was any truth in the statement, though it was dear Lady Cumnor that said it.
Once in her own room, Lady Harriet said, "Now, Clare, I'll tell you all about it; and I think you'll have to it, for it was Mr. Preston himself who told me. I of a great in Hollingford about Mr. Preston; and I met him out, and asked him what it was all about; he didn't want to speak about it, evidently. No man does, I suppose, when he's been jilted; and he papa and me promise not to tell; but papa did—and that's what has for a foundation; you see, a good one."
"But Cynthia is to another man—she is. And another—a very good match indeed—has just been to her in London. Mr. Preston is always at the of mischief."
"Nay! I do think in this case it must be that Miss Cynthia of yours who has on one man to be to her,—not to say two,—and another to make her an offer. I can't Mr. Preston, but I think it's hard to him of having called up the rivals, who are, I suppose, the occasion of his being jilted."
"I don't know; I always as if he me a grudge, and men have so many of being spiteful. You must that if he had not met you I should not have had dear Lady Cumnor so angry with me."
"She only wanted to you about Cynthia. Mamma has always been very particular about her own daughters. She has been very on the least approach to flirting, and Mary will be like her!"
"But Cynthia will flirt, and I can't help it. She is not noisy, or giggling; she is always a lady—that must own. But she has a way of men, she must have from me, I think." And here she faintly, and would not have rejected a compliment, but none came. "However, I will speak to her; I will to the of the whole affair. Pray tell Lady Cumnor that it has so me the way she spoke, about my dress and all. And it only cost five after all, from eight!"
"Well, mind now. You are looking very much flushed; feverish! I left you too long in mamma's room. But do you know she is so much pleased to have you here?" And so Lady Cumnor was, in of the which she gave "Clare," and which Mrs. Gibson under as as the worm. Still it was something to have a to her; and that would when the worry was past. And then Lady Harriet her more than to make up for what she had to go through in the convalescent's room; and Lady Cuxhaven talked to her, with of science and intermixed, which was very flattering, although unintelligible; and Lord Cumnor, good-natured, good-tempered, kind, and liberal, was full of to her for her in to see Lady Cumnor, and his took the shape of a of venison, to say nothing of game. When she looked upon her visit, as she home in the of the Towers' carriage, there had been but one great rub—Lady Cumnor's crossness—and she to Cynthia as the of that, of the truth, which had been so often set her by the members of her ladyship's family, that it took its in her of health. Mrs. Gibson did not to visit this one upon Cynthia, did she to her for as yet unexplained, and which might have some justification; but, her in the drawing-room, she in her own little easy chair, and in reply to Cynthia's quick of—
"Well, mamma, how are you? We didn't you so early! Let me take off your and shawl!" she dolefully,—
"It has not been such a happy visit that I should wish to it." Her were on the carpet, and her was as to the welcome offered as she make it.
"What has been the matter?" asked Cynthia, in all good faith.
"You! Cynthia—you! I little when you were how I should have to to you spoken about."
Cynthia her head, and angry light came into her eyes.
"What have they with me? How came they to talk about me in any way?"
"Everybody is talking about you; it is no wonder they are. Lord Cumnor is sure to about always. You should take more about what you do, Cynthia, if you don't like being talked about."
"It upon what people say," said Cynthia, a which she did not feel; for she had a of what was coming.
"Well! I don't like it, at any rate. It is not to me to of my daughter's from Lady Cumnor, and then to be about her, and her flirting, and her jilting, as if I had had anything to do with it. I can you it has my visit. No! don't touch my shawl. When I go to my room I can take it myself."
Cynthia was to bay, and down; with her mother, who from time to time.
"Would you mind telling me what they said? If there are against me, it is as well I should know what they are. Here's Molly" (as the girl entered the room, fresh from a morning's walk). "Molly, has come from the Towers, and my lord and my lady have been doing me the to talk over my and misdemeanors, and I am what they have said. I don't set up for more than other people, but I can't make out what an and a have to do with little me."
"It was not for your sake!" said Mrs. Gibson. "It was for mine. They for me, for it is not to have one's child's name in everybody's mouth."
"As I said before, that upon how it is in everybody's mouth. If I were going to Lord Hollingford, I make no every one would be talking about me, and neither you I should mind it in the least."
"But this is no marriage with Lord Hollingford, so it is nonsense to talk as if it was. They say you've gone and to Mr. Preston, and now to him; and they call that jilting."
"Do you wish me to him, mamma?" asked Cynthia, her in a flame, her down. Molly by, very hot, not it; and only where she was by the of in as or peacemaker, or of some kind.
"No," said Mrs. Gibson, by the question. "Of I don't; you have gone and with Roger Hamley, a very man; but nobody where he is, and if he's or alive; and he has not a if he is alive."
"I your pardon. I know that he has some from his mother; it may not be much, but he is not penniless; and he is sure to earn and great reputation, and with it money will come," said Cynthia.
"You've with him, and you've done something of the with Mr. Preston, and got into such an imbroglio" (Mrs. Gibson not have said "mess" for the world, although the word was present to her mind), "that when a person comes forward—handsome, agreeable, and the gentleman—and a good private into the bargain, you have to him. You'll end as an old maid, Cynthia, and it will my heart."
"I I shall," said Cynthia, quietly. "I sometimes think I'm the of person of which old are made!" She spoke seriously, and a little sadly.
Mrs. Gibson again. "I don't want to know your as long as they are secrets; but when all the town is talking about you, I think I ought to be told."
"But, mamma, I didn't know I was such a of conversation; and now I can't make out how it has come about."
"No more can I. I only know that they say you've been to Mr. Preston, and ought to have married him, and that I can't help it, if you did not choose, any more than I have helped your Mr. Henderson; and yet I am for your misconduct. I think it's very hard." Mrs. Gibson to cry. Just then her husband came in.
"You here, my dear! Welcome back," said he, up to her courteously, and her cheek. "Why, what's the matter? Tears?" and he himself away again.
"Yes!" said she, herself up, and after of any kind, at any price. "I'm come home again, and I'm telling Cynthia how Lady Cumnor has been so to me, and all through her. Did you know she had gone and herself to Mr. Preston, and then it off? Everybody is talking about it, and they know it up at the Towers."
For one moment his met Molly's, and he it all. He his up into a whistle, but no came. Cynthia had her manner since her mother had spoken to Mr. Gibson. Molly by her.
"Cynthia," said he, very seriously.
"Yes!" she answered, softly.
"Is this true? I had something of it before—not much; but there is about to make it that you should have some protector—some friend who the whole truth."
No answer. At last she said, "Molly it all."
Mrs. Gibson, too, had been into by her husband's manner, and she did not like to give to the in her mind that Molly had the of which she was ignorant. Mr. Gibson to Cynthia with some sternness:
"Yes! I know that Molly it all, and that she has had to and for your sake, Cynthia. But she to tell me more."
"She told you that much, did she?" said Cynthia, aggrieved.
"I not help it," said Molly.
"She didn't name your name," said Mr. Gibson. "At the time I she she had it—but there was no who it was."
"Why did she speak about it at all?" said Cynthia, with some bitterness. Her tone—her question up Mr. Gibson's passion.
"It was necessary for her to herself to me—I my daughter's for the private she had to Mr. Preston—I came to her for an explanation. There's no need to be ungenerous, Cynthia, you've been a and a jilt, to the of Molly's name into the same mire."
Cynthia her bowed-down head, and looked at him.
"You say that of me, Mr. Gibson? Not what the are, you say that?"
He had spoken too strongly: he it. But he not himself to own it just at that moment. The of his sweet Molly, who had so much patiently, any of his at the time.
"Yes!" he said, "I do say it. You cannot tell what are put upon so the of propriety. I do say that Molly has had a great to bear, in of this of yours, Cynthia—there may be circumstances, I acknowledge—but you will need to them all to your to Roger Hamley, when he comes home. I asked you to tell me the full truth, in order that until he comes, and has a legal right to protect you, I may do so." No answer. "It explanation," he. "Here are you,—engaged to two men at once to all appearances!" Still no answer. "To be sure, the of the town haven't yet out the of Roger Hamley's being your lover; but has been on Molly, and ought to have rested on you, Cynthia—for a to Mr. Preston—necessitating in all of places unknown to your friends."
"Papa," said Molly, "if you all you wouldn't speak so to Cynthia. I wish she would tell you herself all that she has told me."
"I am to she has to say," said he. But Cynthia said,—
"No! you have me; you have spoken to me as you had no right to speak. I to give you my confidence, or accept your help. People are very to me"—her voice for a moment—"I did not think you would have been. But I can it."
And then, in of Molly, who would have her by force, she herself away, and left the room.
"Oh, papa!" said Molly, crying, and to him, "do let me tell you all." And then she the of telling some of the of the Mrs. Gibson, and stopped short.
"I think, Mr. Gibson, you have been very very to my child," said Mrs. Gibson, from her pocket-handkerchief. "I only wish her father had been alive, and all this would have happened."
"Very probably. Still I cannot see of what either she or you have to complain. Inasmuch as we could, I and mine have her! I have loved her; I do love her almost as if she were my own child—as well as Molly, I do not to do."
"That's it, Mr. Gibson! you do not her like your own child." But in the of this Molly out, and in search of Cynthia. She she an olive-branch of in the of her father's just spoken words: "I do love her almost as if she were my own child." But Cynthia was locked into her room, and to open the door.
"Open to me, please," Molly. "I have something to say to you—I want to see you—do open!"
"No!" said Cynthia. "Not now. I am busy. Leave me alone. I don't want to what you have got to say. I don't want to see you. By-and-by we shall meet, and then—" Molly quietly, what new of more she use. In a minute or two Cynthia called out, "Are you there still, Molly?" and when Molly answered "Yes," and for a relenting, the same hard voice, telling of and repression, spoke out, "Go away. I cannot the of your being there—waiting and listening. Go downstairs—out of the house—anywhere away. It is the most you can do for me now."
