Cynthia blushed, and looked fluttered and pleased.
"Yes, I suppose it is. At the same time, Molly, I'm afraid he'll
expect me to be always as good as he fancies me now, and I shall have
to walk on tiptoe all the rest of my life."
"But you are good, Cynthia," put in Molly.
"No, I'm not. You're just as much mistaken as he is; and some day I
shall go down in your opinions with a run, just like the hall clock
the other day when the spring broke."
"I think he'll love you just as much," said Molly.
"Could you? Would you be my friend if--if it turned out ever that I
had done very wrong things? Would you remember how very difficult it
has sometimes been to me to act rightly?" (she took hold of Molly's
hand as she spoke). "We won't speak of mamma, for your sake as much
as mine or hers; but you must see she isn't one to help a girl with
much good advice, or good-- Oh, Molly, you don't know how I was
neglected just at a time when I wanted friends most. Mamma does not
know it; it is not in her to know what I might have been if I had
only fallen into wise, good hands. But I know it; and what's more,"
continued she, suddenly ashamed of her unusual exhibition of feeling,
"I try not to care, which I daresay is really the worst of all; but I
could worry myself to death if I once took to serious thinking."
"I wish I could help you, or even understand you," said Molly, after
a moment or two of sad perplexity.
"You can help me," said Cynthia, changing her manner abruptly. "I can
trim bonnets, and make head-dresses; but somehow my hands can't fold
up gowns and collars, like your deft little fingers. Please will
you help me to pack? That's a real, tangible piece of kindness, and
not sentimental consolation for sentimental distresses, which are,
perhaps, imaginary after all."
In general, it is the people that are left behind stationary, who
give way to low spirits at any parting; the travellers, however
bitterly they may feel the separation, find something in the change
of scene to soften regret in the very first hour of separation. But
as Molly walked home with her father from seeing Mrs. Gibson and
Cynthia off to London by the "Umpire" coach, she almost danced along
the street.
"Now, papa!" said she, "I'm going to have you all to myself for a
whole week. You must be very obedient."
"Don't be tyrannical, then. You're walking me out of breath, and
we're cutting Mrs. Goodenough, in our hurry."