So she could leave him, and go in. But just as she was close to the
garden door, Roger came out. It really was for once a case of virtue
its own reward, for it was far pleasanter to her to have him in a
tête-à-tête, however short, than in the restraint of Mrs. Gibson's
and Cynthia's presence.
"I only just found out where you were, Molly. Mrs. Gibson said you
had gone out, but she didn't know where; and it was the greatest
chance that I turned round and saw you."
"I saw you some time ago, but I couldn't leave Williams. I think he
was unusually slow to-day; and he seemed as if he couldn't understand
my plans for the new flower-beds."
"Is that the paper you've got in your hand? Let me look at it, will
you? Ah, I see! you've borrowed some of your ideas from our garden at
home, haven't you? This bed of scarlet geraniums, with the border of
young oaks, pegged down! That was a fancy of my dear mother's."
They were both silent for a minute or two. Then Molly said,--
"How is the Squire? I've never seen him since."
"No, he told me how much he wanted to see you, but he couldn't make
up his mind to come and call. I suppose it would never do now for you
to come and stay at the Hall, would it? It would give my father so
much pleasure: he looks upon you as a daughter, and I'm sure both
Osborne and I shall always consider you are like a sister to us,
after all my mother's love for you, and your tender care of her at
last. But I suppose it wouldn't do."
"No! certainly not," said Molly, hastily.
"I fancy if you could come it would put us a little to rights. You
know, as I think I once told you, Osborne has behaved differently to
what I should have done, though not wrongly,--only what I call an
error of judgment. But my father, I'm sure, has taken up some notion
of--never mind; only the end of it is that he holds Osborne still in
tacit disgrace, and is miserable himself all the time. Osborne, too,
is sore and unhappy, and estranged from my father. It is just what
my mother would have put right very soon, and perhaps you could
have done it--unconsciously, I mean--for this wretched mystery that
Osborne preserves about his affairs is at the root of it all. But
there's no use talking about it; I don't know why I began." Then,
with a wrench, changing the subject, while Molly still thought of
what he had been telling her, he broke out,--"I can't tell you how
much I like Miss Kirkpatrick, Molly. It must be a great pleasure to
you having such a companion!"