Wives and Daughters: An Every-Day Story - Page 53/572

The Squire had hitherto been too busy to talk, except about the

immediate concerns of the table, and one or two of the greatest

breaks to the usual monotony of his days; a monotony in which he

delighted, but which sometimes became oppressive to his wife. Now,

however, peeling his orange, he turned to Molly--

"To-morrow you'll have to do this for me, Miss Gibson."

"Shall I? I'll do it to-day, if you like, sir."

"No; to-day I shall treat you as a visitor, with all proper ceremony.

To-morrow I shall send you errands, and call you by your Christian

name."

"I shall like that," said Molly.

"I was wanting to call you something less formal than Miss Gibson,"

said Mrs. Hamley.

"My name is Molly. It is an old-fashioned name, and I was christened

Mary. But papa likes Molly."

"That's right. Keep to the good old fashions, my dear."

"Well, I must say I think Mary is prettier than Molly, and quite as

old a name, too," said Mrs. Hamley.

"I think it was," said Molly, lowering her voice, and dropping her

eyes, "because mamma was Mary, and I was called Molly while she

lived."

"Ah, poor thing," said the squire, not perceiving his wife's signs

to change the subject, "I remember how sorry every one was when she

died; no one thought she was delicate, she had such a fresh colour,

till all at once she popped off, as one may say."

"It must have been a terrible blow to your father," said Mrs. Hamley,

seeing that Molly did not know what to answer.

"Ay, ay. It came so sudden, so soon after they were married."

"I thought it was nearly four years," said Molly.

"And four years is soon--is a short time to a couple who look to

spending their lifetime together. Every one thought Gibson would have

married again."

"Hush," said Mrs. Hamley, seeing in Molly's eyes and change of colour

how completely this was a new idea to her. But the squire was not so

easily stopped.

"Well--I'd perhaps better not have said it, but it's the truth; they

did. He's not likely to marry now, so one may say it out. Why, your

father is past forty, isn't he?"

"Forty-three. I don't believe he ever thought of marrying again,"

said Molly, recurring to the idea, as one does to that of danger

which has passed by, without one's being aware of it.

"No! I don't believe he did, my dear. He looks to me just like a man

who would be constant to the memory of his wife. You must not mind

what the squire says."