"Shall we stay up here, my dear? I think it is pleasanter than
down below; and then I shall not have to come upstairs again at
dressing-time."
"I shall like it very much," replied Molly.
"Ah! you've got your sewing, like a good girl," said Mrs. Hamley.
"Now, I don't sew much. I live alone a great deal. You see, both
my boys are at Cambridge, and the squire is out of doors all day
long--so I have almost forgotten how to sew. I read a great deal. Do
you like reading?"
"It depends upon the kind of book," said Molly. "I'm afraid I don't
like 'steady reading,' as papa calls it."
"But you like poetry!" said Mrs. Hamley, almost interrupting Molly.
"I was sure you did, from your face. Have you read this last poem of
Mrs. Hemans? Shall I read it aloud to you?"
So she began. Molly was not so much absorbed in listening but that
she could glance round the room. The character of the furniture was
much the same as in her own. Old-fashioned, of handsome material,
and faultlessly clean, the age and the foreign appearance of it gave
an aspect of comfort and picturesqueness to the whole apartment. On
the walls there hung some crayon sketches--portraits. She thought
she could make out that one of them was a likeness of Mrs. Hamley,
in her beautiful youth. And then she became interested in the poem,
and dropped her work, and listened in a manner that was after Mrs.
Hamley's own heart. When the reading of the poem was ended, Mrs.
Hamley replied to some of Molly's words of admiration, by saying:
"Ah! I think I must read you some of Osborne's poetry some day; under
seal of secrecy, remember; but I really fancy they are almost as good
as Mrs. Hemans'."
To be nearly as good as Mrs. Hemans' was saying as much to the young
ladies of that day, as saying that poetry is nearly as good as
Tennyson's would be in this. Molly looked up with eager interest.
"Mr. Osborne Hamley? Does your son write poetry?"
"Yes. I really think I may say he is a poet. He is a very brilliant,
clever young man, and he quite hopes to get a fellowship at Trinity.
He says he is sure to be high up among the wranglers, and that
he expects to get one of the Chancellor's medals. That is his
likeness--the one hanging against the wall behind you."
Molly turned round, and saw one of the crayon sketches--representing
two boys, in the most youthful kind of jackets and trousers, and
falling collars. The elder was sitting down, reading intently.
The younger was standing by him, and evidently trying to call the
attention of the reader off to some object out of doors--out of
the window of the very room in which they were sitting, as Molly
discovered when she began to recognize the articles of furniture
faintly indicated in the picture.