"Well, really, I begin to have some faith in long descent. What a
gentleman he is! How agreeable and polite! So different from that
forward Mr. Preston," she continued, looking a little anxiously at
Cynthia. Cynthia, quite aware that her reply was being watched for,
said, coolly,--
"Mr. Preston doesn't improve on acquaintance. There was a time,
mamma, when I think both you and I thought him very agreeable."
"I don't remember. You've a clearer memory than I have. But we were
talking of this delightful Mr. Osborne Hamley. Why, Molly, you were
always talking of his brother--it was Roger this, and Roger that--I
can't think how it was you so seldom mentioned this young man."
"I didn't know I had mentioned Mr. Roger Hamley so often," said
Molly, blushing a little. "But I saw much more of him--he was more at
home."
"Well, well! It's all right, my dear. I daresay he suits you best.
But really, when I saw Osborne Hamley close to my Cynthia, I couldn't
help thinking--but perhaps I'd better not tell you what I was
thinking of. Only they are each of them so much above the average in
appearance; and, of course, that suggests things."
"I perfectly understand what you were thinking of, mamma," said
Cynthia, with the greatest composure; "and so does Molly, I have no
doubt."
"Well! there's no harm in it, I'm sure. Did you hear him say that,
though he did not like to leave his father alone just at present, yet
that when his brother Roger came back from Cambridge, he should feel
more at liberty! It was quite as much as to say, 'If you will ask me
to dinner then, I shall be delighted to come.' And chickens will be
so much cheaper, and cook has such a nice way of boning them, and
doing them up with forcemeat. Everything seems to be falling out
so fortunately. And Molly, my dear, you know I won't forget you.
By-and-by, when Roger Hamley has taken his turn at stopping at home
with his father, we will ask him to one of our little quiet dinners."
Molly was very slow at taking this in; but in about a minute the
sense of it had reached her brain, and she went all over very red and
hot; especially as she saw that Cynthia was watching the light come
into her mind with great amusement.
"I'm afraid Molly isn't properly grateful, mamma. If I were you, I
wouldn't exert myself to give a dinner-party on her account. Bestow
all your kindness upon me."
Molly was often puzzled by Cynthia's speeches to her mother; and this
was one of these occasions. But she was more anxious to say something
for herself; she was so much annoyed at the implication in Mrs.
Gibson's last words.