Molly went upstairs to get ready to accompany Miss Phoebe; and on
opening one of her drawers she saw Cynthia's envelope, containing
the money she owed to Mr. Preston, carefully sealed up like a letter.
This was what Molly had so unwillingly promised to deliver--the last
final stroke to the affair. Molly took it up, hating it. For a time
she had forgotten it; and now it was here, facing her, and she must
try and get rid of it. She put it into her pocket for the chances
of the walk and the day, and fortune for once seemed to befriend
her; for, on their entering Grinstead's shop, in which two or three
people were now, as always, congregated, making play of examining the
books, or business of writing down the titles of new works in the
order-book, there was Mr. Preston. He bowed as they came in. He could
not help that; but, at the sight of Molly, he looked as ill-tempered
and out of humour as a man well could do. She was connected in his
mind with defeat and mortification; and besides, the sight of her
called up what he desired now, above all things, to forget; namely,
the deep conviction, received through Molly's simple earnestness,
of Cynthia's dislike to him. If Miss Phoebe had seen the scowl upon
his handsome face, she might have undeceived her sister in her
suppositions about him and Molly. But Miss Phoebe, who did not
consider it quite maidenly to go and stand close to Mr. Preston, and
survey the shelves of books in such close proximity to a gentleman,
found herself an errand at the other end of the shop, and occupied
herself in buying writing-paper. Molly fingered her valuable letter,
as it lay in her pocket; did she dare to cross over to Mr. Preston,
and give it to him, or not? While she was still undecided, shrinking
always just at the moment when she thought she had got her courage
up for action, Miss Phoebe, having finished her purchase, turned
round, and after looking a little pathetically at Mr. Preston's back,
said to Molly in a whisper--"I think we'll go to Johnson's now, and
come back for the books in a little while." So across the street to
Johnson's they went; but no sooner had they entered the draper's
shop, than Molly's conscience smote her for her cowardice, and loss
of a good opportunity. "I'll be back directly," said she, as soon as
Miss Phoebe was engaged with her purchases; and Molly ran across to
Grinstead's, without looking either to the right or the left; she had
been watching the door, and she knew that no Mr. Preston had issued
forth. She ran in; he was at the counter now, talking to Grinstead
himself; Molly put the letter into his hand, to his surprise,
and almost against his will, and turned round to go back to Miss
Phoebe. At the door of the shop stood Mrs. Goodenough, arrested in
the act of entering, staring, with her round eyes, made still rounder
and more owl-like by spectacles, to see Molly Gibson giving Mr.
Preston a letter, which he, conscious of being watched, and favouring
underhand practices habitually, put quickly into his pocket,
unopened. Perhaps, if he had had time for reflection he would not
have scrupled to put Molly to open shame, by rejecting what she so
eagerly forced upon him.