"When will he be there?" asked Molly.
"On Wednesday, he said. I'm to write to him there; at any rate he's
going to write to me."
Molly went about the adjustment of her dress in a quiet,
business-like manner, not speaking much; Cynthia, although sitting
still, seemed very restless. Oh! how much Molly wished that she would
go.
"Perhaps, after all," said Cynthia, after a pause of apparent
meditation, "we shall never be married."
"Why do you say that?" said Molly, almost bitterly. "You have nothing
to make you think so. I wonder how you can bear to think you won't,
even for a moment."
"Oh!" said Cynthia; "you mustn't go and take me _au grand sérieux_. I
daresay I don't mean what I say, but you see everything seems a dream
at present. Still, I think the chances are equal--the chances for and
against our marriage, I mean. Two years! it's a long time! he may
change his mind, or I may; or some one else may turn up, and I may
get engaged to him: what should you think of that, Molly? I'm putting
such a gloomy thing as death quite on one side, you see; yet in two
years how much may happen!"
"Don't talk so, Cynthia, please don't," said Molly, piteously. "One
would think you didn't care for him, and he cares so much for you!"
"Why, did I say I didn't care for him? I was only calculating
chances. I'm sure I hope nothing will happen to prevent the marriage.
Only, you know it may, and I thought I was taking a step in wisdom,
in looking forward to all the evils that might befall. I'm sure all
the wise people I've ever known thought it a virtue to have gloomy
prognostics of the future. But you're not in a mood for wisdom or
virtue, I see; so I'll go and get ready for dinner, and leave you to
your vanities of dress."
She took Molly's face in both her hands, before Molly was aware
of her intention, and kissed it playfully. Then she left Molly to
herself.