"Yes; Hyacinth! It's the silliest name I ever heard of; but it's
hers, and I must call her by it. I can't bear Clare, which is
what my lady and all the family at the Towers call her; and 'Mrs.
Kirkpatrick' is formal and nonsensical too, as she'll change her name
so soon."
"When, papa?" asked Molly, feeling as if she were living in a
strange, unknown world.
"Not till after Michaelmas." And then, continuing on his own
thoughts, he added, "And the worst is, she's gone and perpetuated her
own affected name by having her daughter called after her. Cynthia!
One thinks of the moon, and the man in the moon with his bundle of
faggots. I'm thankful you're plain Molly, child."
"How old is she--Cynthia, I mean?"
"Ay, get accustomed to the name. I should think Cynthia Kirkpatrick
was about as old as you are. She's at school in France, picking up
airs and graces. She's to come home for the wedding, so you'll be
able to get acquainted with her then; though, I think, she's to go
back again for another half-year or so."