"Does she often come here?"
"Not often. But I fancy she likes being here when she does. Perhaps
she finds it an agreeable change after the more formal life she leads
at the Towers."
"I should think it was a very pleasant house to stay at," said Molly,
remembering the look of warm comfort that pervaded it. But a little
to her dismay Mr. Preston seemed to take it as a compliment to
himself.
"I was afraid a young lady like you might perceive all the
incongruities of a bachelor's home. I'm very much obliged to you,
Miss Gibson. In general I live pretty much in the room in which we
shall dine; and I've a sort of agent's office in which I keep books
and papers, and receive callers on business."
Then they went in to dinner. Molly thought everything that was served
was delicious, and cooked to the point of perfection; but they
did not seem to satisfy Mr. Preston, who apologized to his guests
several times for the bad cooking of this dish, or the omission
of a particular sauce to that; always referring to bachelor's
housekeeping, bachelor's this and bachelor's that, till Molly grew
quite impatient at the word. Her father's depression, which was still
continuing and rendering him very silent, made her uneasy; yet she
wished to conceal it from Mr. Preston; and so she talked away, trying
to obviate the sort of personal bearing which their host would give
to everything. She did not know when to leave the gentlemen, but her
father made a sign to her; and she was conducted back to the yellow
drawing-room by Mr. Preston, who made many apologies for leaving
her there alone. She enjoyed herself extremely, however, feeling at
liberty to prowl about, and examine all the curiosities the room
contained. Among other things was a Louis Quinze cabinet with lovely
miniatures in enamel let into the fine woodwork. She carried a candle
to it, and was looking intently at these faces when her father and
Mr. Preston came in. Her father still looked care-worn and anxious;
he came up and patted her on the back, looked at what she was looking
at, and then went off to silence and the fire. Mr. Preston took the
candle out of her hand, and threw himself into her interests with an
air of ready gallantry.
"That is said to be Mademoiselle de St. Quentin, a great beauty at
the French Court. This is Madame du Barri. Do you see any likeness in
Mademoiselle de St. Quentin to any one you know?" He had lowered his
voice a little as he asked this question.