"I saw Molly this morning. Twice I have been forbidden admittance, as
she was too ill to see any one out of her own family. I wish we could
begin to perceive a change for the better; but she looks more fading
every time, and I fear Mr. Gibson considers it a very anxious case."
The day but one after this letter was despatched, Cynthia walked into
the drawing-room at home with as much apparent composure as if she
had left it not an hour before. Mrs. Gibson was dozing, but believing
herself to be reading; she had been with Molly the greater part of
the morning, and now after her lunch, and the invalid's pretence of
early dinner, she considered herself entitled to some repose. She
started up as Cynthia came in:
"Cynthia! Dear child, where have you come from? Why in the world have
you come? My poor nerves! My heart is quite fluttering; but, to be
sure, it's no wonder with all this anxiety I have to undergo. Why
have you come back?"
"Because of the anxiety you speak of, mamma. I never knew,--you never
told me how ill Molly was."
"Nonsense! I beg your pardon, my dear, but it's really nonsense.
Molly's illness is only nervous, Mr. Gibson says. A nervous fever;
but you must remember nerves are mere fancy, and she's getting
better. Such a pity for you to have left your uncle's. Who told you
about Molly?"
"Lady Harriet. She wrote about some wool--"
"I know,--I know. But you might have known she always exaggerates
things. Not but what I have been almost worn out with nursing.
Perhaps, after all, it is a very good thing you have come, my dear;
and now you shall come down into the dining-room and have some lunch,
and tell me all the Hyde Park Street news--into my room,--don't go
into yours yet--Molly is so sensitive to noise!"
While Cynthia ate her lunch, Mrs. Gibson went on questioning. "And
your aunt, how is her cold? And Helen, quite strong again? Margaretta
as pretty as ever? The boys are at Harrow, I suppose? And my old
favourite, Mr. Henderson?" She could not manage to slip in this last
inquiry naturally; in spite of herself there was a change of tone, an
accent of eagerness. Cynthia did not reply on the instant; she poured
herself out some water with great deliberation, and then said,--
"My aunt is quite well; Helen is as strong as she ever is, and
Margaretta very pretty. The boys are at Harrow, and I conclude that
Mr. Henderson is enjoying his usual health, for he was to dine at my
uncle's to-day."