"Here's mamma," she said, looking beyond Molly on to the stairs where
Mrs. Gibson stood, wrapped up in a shawl, and shivering in the cold.
She ran past Molly and Mr. Gibson, who rather averted their eyes from
this first greeting between mother and child.
Mrs. Gibson said--
"Why, how you are grown, darling! You look quite a woman."
"And so I am," said Cynthia. "I was before I went away; I've hardly
grown since,--except, it is always to be hoped, in wisdom."
"Yes! That we will hope," said Mrs. Gibson, in rather a meaning
way. Indeed there were evidently hidden allusions in their seeming
commonplace speeches. When they all came into the full light and
repose of the drawing-room, Molly was absorbed in the contemplation
of Cynthia's beauty. Perhaps her features were not regular; but the
changes in her expressive countenance gave one no time to think of
that. Her smile was perfect; her pouting charming; the play of the
face was in the mouth. Her eyes were beautifully shaped, but their
expression hardly seemed to vary. In colouring she was not unlike
her mother; only she had not so much of the red-haired tints in her
complexion; and her long-shaped, serious grey eyes were fringed with
dark lashes, instead of her mother's insipid flaxen ones. Molly fell
in love with her, so to speak, on the instant. She sate there warming
her feet and hands, as much at her ease as if she had been there all
her life; not particularly attending to her mother--who, all the
time, was studying either her or her dress--measuring Molly and Mr.
Gibson with grave observant looks, as if guessing how she should like
them.
"There's hot breakfast ready for you in the dining-room, when you are
ready for it," said Mr. Gibson. "I'm sure you must want it after your
night journey." He looked round at his wife, at Cynthia's mother, but
she did not seem inclined to leave the warm room again.
"Molly will take you to your room, darling," said she; "it is near
hers, and she has got her things to take off. I'll come down and sit
in the dining-room while you are having your breakfast, but I really
am afraid of the cold now."
Cynthia rose and followed Molly upstairs.
"I'm so sorry there isn't a fire for you," said Molly, "but--I
suppose it wasn't ordered; and, of course, I don't give any orders.
Here is some hot water, though."
"Stop a minute," said Cynthia, getting hold of both Molly's hands,
and looking steadily into her face, but in such a manner that she did
not dislike the inspection.