Molly was bracing herself up in her way too. "I will be like Harriet.
I will think of others. I won't think of myself," she kept repeating
all the way to the Towers. But there was no selfishness in wishing
that the day was come to an end, and that she did very heartily. Mrs.
Hamley sent her thither in the carriage, which was to wait and bring
her back at night. Mrs. Hamley wanted Molly to make a favourable
impression, and she sent for her to come and show herself before she
set out.
"Don't put on your silk gown--your white muslin will look the nicest,
my dear."
"Not my silk? it is quite new! I had it to come here."
"Still, I think your white muslin suits you the best." "Anything but
that horrid plaid silk" was the thought in Mrs. Hamley's mind; and,
thanks to her, Molly set off for the Towers, looking a little quaint,
it is true, but thoroughly lady-like, if she was old-fashioned. Her
father was to meet her there; but he had been detained, and she had
to face Mrs. Kirkpatrick by herself, the recollection of her last
day of misery at the Towers fresh in her mind as if it had been
yesterday. Mrs. Kirkpatrick was as caressing as could be. She held
Molly's hand in hers, as they sate together in the library, after the
first salutations were over. She kept stroking it from time to time,
and purring out inarticulate sounds of loving satisfaction, as she
gazed in the blushing face.
"What eyes! so like your dear father's! How we shall love each
other--shan't we, darling? For his sake!"
"I'll try," said Molly, bravely; and then she could not finish her
sentence.
"And you've just got the same beautiful black curling hair!" said
Mrs. Kirkpatrick, softly lifting one of Molly's curls from off her
white temple.
"Papa's hair is growing grey," said Molly.
"Is it? I never see it. I never shall see it. He will always be to me
the handsomest of men."
Mr. Gibson was really a very handsome man, and Molly was pleased with
the compliment; but she could not help saying,--
"Still he will grow old, and his hair will grow grey. I think he will
be just as handsome, but it won't be as a young man."
"Ah! that's just it, love. He'll always be handsome; some people
always are. And he is so fond of you, dear." Molly's colour flashed
into her face. She did not want an assurance of her own father's love
from this strange woman. She could not help being angry; all she
could do was to keep silent. "You don't know how he speaks of you;
'his little treasure,' as he calls you. I'm almost jealous
sometimes."