Wives and Daughters: An Every-Day Story - Page 512/572

"I am not going to thank you, Molly, or to tell you how I love you."

"Don't," said Molly, "I can't bear it."

"Only you know you are to be my first visitor, and if you wear brown

ribbons to a green gown, I'll turn you out of the house!" So they

parted. Mr. Gibson was there in the hall to hand Molly in. He had

ridden hard; and was now giving her two or three last injunctions as

to her health.

"Think of us on Thursday," said he. "I declare I don't know which of

her three lovers she mayn't summon at the very last moment to act the

part of bridegroom. I'm determined to be surprised at nothing; and

will give her away with a good grace to whoever comes."

They drove away, and until they were out of sight of the house, Molly

had enough to do to keep returning the kisses of the hand wafted to

her by her stepmother out of the drawing-room window, while at the

same time her eyes were fixed on a white handkerchief fluttering out

of the attic from which she herself had watched Roger's departure

nearly two years before. What changes time had brought!

When Molly arrived at the Towers she was convoyed into Lady Cumnor's

presence by Lady Harriet. It was a mark of respect to the lady of the

house, which the latter knew that her mother would expect; but she

was anxious to get it over, and take Molly up into the room which she

had been so busy arranging for her. Lady Cumnor was, however, very

kind, if not positively gracious.

"You are Lady Harriet's visitor, my dear," said she, "and I hope she

will take good care of you. If not, come and complain of her to me."

It was as near an approach to a joke as Lady Cumnor ever perpetrated,

and from it Lady Harriet knew that her mother was pleased by Molly's

manners and appearance.

"Now, here you are in your own kingdom; and into this room I shan't

venture to come without express permission. Here is the last new

_Quarterly_, and the last new novel, and the last new Essays. Now, my

dear, you needn't come down again to-day unless you like it. Parkes

shall bring you everything and anything you want. You must get strong

as fast as you can, for all sorts of great and famous people are

coming to-morrow and the next day, and I think you'll like to see

them. Suppose for to-day you only come down to lunch, and if you

like it, in the evening. Dinner is such a wearily long meal, if one

isn't strong; and you wouldn't miss much, for there's only my cousin

Charles in the house now, and he is the personification of sensible

silence."