"That's a very neat and diplomatic answer," said Lady Harriet,
smiling, and tapping Molly's cheek with her fan.
"Molly knows nothing about it," said Mrs. Gibson, a little off
her guard. "It would be very impertinent if she or any one else
questioned Lady Cumnor's perfect right to come when she chose."
"Well, all I know is, I must go back to mamma now; but I shall make
another raid into these regions by-and-by, and you must keep a place
for me. Ah! there are--Miss Brownings; you see I don't forget my
lesson, Miss Gibson."
"Molly, I cannot have you speaking so to Lady Harriet," said Mrs.
Gibson, as soon as she was left alone with her stepdaughter. "You
would never have known her at all if it had not been for me, and
don't be always putting yourself into our conversation."
"But I must speak if she asks me questions," pleaded Molly.
"Well! if you must, you must, I acknowledge. I'm candid about that at
any rate. But there's no need for you to set up to have an opinion at
your age."
"I don't know how to help it," said Molly.
"She's such a whimsical person; look there, if she's not talking to
Miss Phoebe; and Miss Phoebe is so weak she'll be easily led away
into fancying she is hand and glove with Lady Harriet. If there is
one thing I hate more than another, it is the trying to make out an
intimacy with great people."
Molly felt innocent enough, so she offered no justification of
herself, and made no reply. Indeed she was more occupied in watching
Cynthia. She could not understand the change that seemed to have come
over her. She was dancing, it was true, with the same lightness and
grace as before, but the smooth bounding motion, as of a feather
blown onwards by the wind, was gone. She was conversing with her
partner, but without the soft animation that usually shone out upon
her countenance. And when she was brought back to her seat Molly
noticed her changed colour, and her dreamily abstracted eyes.
"What is the matter, Cynthia?" asked she, in a very low voice.
"Nothing," said Cynthia, suddenly looking up, and in an accent of
what, in her, was sharpness. "Why should there be?"
"I don't know; but you look different to what you did--tired or
something."
"There's nothing the matter, or, if there is, don't talk about it.
It's all your fancy."
This was a rather contradictory speech, to be interpreted by
intuition rather than by logic. Molly understood that Cynthia wished
for quietness and silence. But what was her surprise, after the
speeches that had passed before, and the implication of Cynthia's
whole manner to Mr. Preston, to see him come up to her, and, without
a word, offer his arm and lead her away to dance. It appeared to
strike Mrs. Gibson as something remarkable; for, forgetting her late
passage at arms with Molly, she asked, wonderingly, as if almost
distrusting the evidence of her senses,--