"But that was what I said, mamma," said Cynthia, looking at her
mother with an expression of innocent bewilderment on her face. "One
man may--"
"Be quiet, child! All proverbs are vulgar, and I do believe that
is the vulgarest of all. You are really catching Roger Hamley's
coarseness, Cynthia!"
"Mamma," said Cynthia, roused to anger, "I don't mind your abusing
me, but Mr. Roger Hamley has been very kind to me while I've not
been well: I can't bear to hear him disparaged. If he's coarse, I've
no objection to be coarse as well, for it seems to me it must mean
kindliness and pleasantness, and the bringing of pretty flowers and
presents."
Molly's tears were brimming over at these words; she could have
kissed Cynthia for her warm partisanship, but, afraid of betraying
emotion, and "making a scene," as Mrs. Gibson called any signs of
warm feeling, she laid down her book hastily, and ran upstairs to
her room, and locked the door in order to breathe freely. There were
traces of tears upon her face when she returned into the drawing-room
half-an-hour afterwards, walking straight and demurely up to her
former place, where Cynthia still sate and gazed idly out of the
window, pouting and displeased; Mrs. Gibson, meanwhile, counting her
stitches aloud with great distinctness and vigour.