One day, to Molly's infinite surprise, Mr. Preston was announced
as a caller. Mrs. Gibson and she were sitting together in the
drawing-room; Cynthia was out--gone into the town a-shopping--when
the door was opened, the name given, and in walked the young man. His
entrance seemed to cause more confusion than Molly could well account
for. He came in with the same air of easy assurance with which he
had received her and her father at Ashcombe Manor-house. He looked
remarkably handsome in his riding-dress, and with the open-air
exercise he had just had. But Mrs. Gibson's smooth brows contracted a
little at the sight of him, and her reception of him was much cooler
than that which she usually gave to visitors. Yet there was a degree
of agitation in it, which surprised Molly a little. Mrs. Gibson was
at her everlasting worsted-work frame when Mr. Preston entered the
room; but somehow in rising to receive him, she threw down her basket
of crewels, and, declining Molly's offer to help her, she would pick
up all the reels herself, before she asked her visitor to sit down.
He stood there, hat in hand, affecting an interest in the recovery of
the worsted which Molly was sure he did not feel; for all the time
his eyes were glancing round the room, and taking note of the details
in the arrangement.
At length they were seated, and conversation began.
"It is the first time I have been in Hollingford since your marriage,
Mrs. Gibson, or I should certainly have called to pay my respects
sooner."
"I know you are very busy at Ashcombe. I did not expect you to call.
Is Lord Cumnor at the Towers? I have not heard from her ladyship for
more than a week!"
"No! he seemed still detained at Bath. But I had a letter from him
giving me certain messages for Mr. Sheepshanks. Mr. Gibson is not at
home, I'm afraid?"
"No. He is a great deal out--almost constantly, I may say. I had no
idea that I should see so little of him. A doctor's wife leads a very
solitary life, Mr. Preston!"
"You can hardly call it solitary, I should think, when you have such
a companion as Miss Gibson always at hand," said he, bowing to Molly.
"Oh, but I call it solitude for a wife when her husband is away. Poor
Mr. Kirkpatrick was never happy unless I always went with him;--all
his walks, all his visits, he liked me to be with him. But, somehow,
Mr. Gibson feels as if I should be rather in his way."