"Once for all, Molly," said Cynthia, now laying down her work, and
speaking with quick authority, "do learn to understand that it is,
and always has been my wish, not to have the relation which Roger and
I bear to each other, mentioned or talked about. When the right time
comes, I will make it known to my uncle, and to everybody whom it may
concern; but I am not going to make mischief, and get myself into
trouble--even for the sake of hearing compliments paid to him--by
letting it out before the time. If I'm pushed to it, I'd sooner
break it off altogether at once, and have done with it. I can't be
worse off than I am now." Her angry tone had changed into a kind of
desponding complaint before she had ended her sentence. Molly looked
at her with dismay.
"I can't understand you, Cynthia," she said at length.
"No; I daresay you can't," said Cynthia, looking at her with tears
in her eyes, and very tenderly, as if in atonement for her late
vehemence. "I am afraid--I hope you never will."
In a moment, Molly's arms were round her. "Oh, Cynthia," she
murmured, "have I been plaguing you? Have I vexed you? Don't say
you're afraid of my knowing you. Of course you've your faults,
everybody has, but I think I love you the better for them."
"I don't know that I am so very bad," said Cynthia, smiling a little
through the tears that Molly's words and caresses had forced to
overflow from her eyes. "But I have got into scrapes. I'm in a scrape
now. I do sometimes believe I shall always be in scrapes, and if they
ever come to light, I shall seem to be worse than I really am; and I
know your father will throw me off, and I--no, I won't be afraid that
you will, Molly."
"I'm sure I won't. Are they--do you think--how would Roger take it?"
asked Molly, very timidly.
"I don't know. I hope he will never hear of it. I don't see why he
should, for in a little while I shall be quite clear again. It all
came about without my ever thinking I was doing wrong. I've a great
mind to tell you all about it, Molly."
Molly did not like to urge it, though she longed to know, and to see
if she could not offer help; but while Cynthia was hesitating, and
perhaps, to say the truth, rather regretting that she had even made
this slight advance towards bestowing her confidence, Mrs. Gibson
came in, full of some manner of altering a gown of hers, so as to
make it into the fashion of the day, as she had seen it during her
visit to London. Cynthia seemed to forget her tears and her troubles,
and to throw her whole soul into millinery.